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New Moon
Sleepless
between two suns,
one setting, one rising,
and I, in the midst of the world,
alone.
Sisyphus*
Uphill...
the long, deep push
against a weight of stone
until...the steep, quick tumbled roll--
downhill
The end
of hope...is never what it seemed--
men lose and gain in war
a prize not planned
but then...
*composed from lines of a villanelle, "War of Dreams" by
Debra Woolard Bender
Return to the front page of this issue:
Amaze Vol.
2, No. 1 Spring & Summer, 2003.
Go to the
Poets & Authors page for the poet's
biographical sketch and email link.
These poems are Copyright © 2003 by Debra Woolard
Bender.
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