Page 9 - Contrast1958Winterv2n1
P. 9
LA MUERTE DE UN PENSAMIENTO
The thought is borne on wings of wisdom
To my mind,
And all my waking senses strain
To feel it through;
To find out inconsistencies,
To clean from it the pain of pathos,
And to find at last,
The hard, .
clear
core
Of truth.
But then the worId-
The rasping, crashing, crushing world,
Wreathing in its wrathful discontent
Comes bursting in upon my consciousness.
The thought,
Still restful and serene
1\1ust find another place to dwell,
Wherein its silence may be free to sound,
And I, regretful of its leaving,
Listen for a sound
Within the rasping, crashing world,
But I
hear
nothing.
MARY HENDREN
7
