!Goretti Publications Gopherspace - Poetry
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The Red Disc
Donald P. Goodman III

The sun arose, red disc in sickly world,
ascending up into a golden sky;
my eyes went with it, weak from travels long,
and foll'wing it I stood, and stood up high.

I started long ago a journey hard—
how easy all things seemed in that great time!
The road was wide and flat, and never curved,
and so I started off with song and rhyme.

But ere I'd travelled long, a block arose;
the block was small, and pushed off to the side.
The sun was bright, revealing all the way,
and showing me that road most smooth and wide.

But ne'ertheless I tripped, I stumbled, fell!
My body hit the ground with painful force;
my ankle broken, I fell to despair
when night descended, hiding my long course.

I crawled along; the pain was all I felt;
I could not see my hand before my face;
the road was curved most cruelly, winding down;
the darkness hid that rocky, painful place.

The night would last fore'er; I could not crawl;
I could not move, my power brought to naught;
the night engulfed me, bound me in its chains;
I could not even see the end I sought.

Despair became my shackles, dark my chains;
I pained, deprived of even hope for hope.
I threw my blinded, hopeless eyes to sky;
“O sun, if you'll not light me, help me cope!”

And so I fell to ground and hoped to die;
but from the heav'ns I heard a tortured sigh;
I looked up; could it be he'd heard my cry?
could he love me, who rules the mighty sky?

The sun arose, red disc in sickly world,
ascending up into a golden sky;
my eyes went with it, weak from travels long,
and foll'wing it I stood, and stood up high.