Judah Mahay, Author
  • Poems,  Works

    Respite

    We all carry a hope for respiteSuch wishful plightsLet us remember the night We yearnAnon the sightWe look to said yonderAway whence we cameTo houses sterile and newAnd untouch glades, lush, unwalkedOnly to watch Forgone childish play, childish toys Yes, the magic diesWith a sighOur skin crinklesOur eyes narrowOur souls hunched in crumbled bodies Yes, the magic diesTill child we see once moreAnd in the sparkle of their eyesWe either cringeOr know whence we cameAnd laugh the glee of respite and see anon no moreOr live to die anon once more