Green Hills Literary Lantern

 

 

Sins of Omission

 

 

Bless me Father,

for I have sinned.

It has been a lifetime

since my last confession.

Today, I slept

through another sunrise.

That makes 24000,

give or take a few hundred,

by my own rough count.

And yesterday,

as I am sure You know,

I took for granted, once more,

an absolutely spectacular sunset.

I barely noticed

the palette of

unique and soulful colors

night squeezed out of day

as it slowly enveloped it.

You must have been shaking

Your Head in disappointment

as you watched me guide

a hunk of metal on wheels

along an open road at breakneck speed,

as though that were the miracle,

instead of the fact that I am here,

in this mystical and poetic place,

where everything,

even love,

had a name before I got here,

and all I had to do

was learn to speak the language.

 

 

Barry W. North is a sixty-six-year-old former refrigeration mechanic. Since his retirement in 2007, he has been nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize, won the 2010 A. E. Coppard Prize for Fiction, and, more recently, won Honorable Mention in the 2011 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards. His work has appeared in, or is scheduled to appear in, The Paterson Literary Review, Slipstream, The Dos Passos Review, Iconoclast, Art Times, Ginosko, and others.