MISSING THE GLORY

Golden sunsets call
from infinity, but
wearing "ought"
blinders, I can
not see.

Within my mundane
garden, no wisdom
roses bloom; no
bluebirds seek
my tree.

During the arresting
season of everything
new, the symphony
of growing plays
off key.

By the dam of others'
conviction, heaven's
healing waters rise
not high enough
for me.

And no matter how long
I linger under Orion,
staring at the stars,
they never speak
to me...

For I am a
prisoner, mired in
convention-- the "higher,"
I'm not allowed
to see.

-- Delma Luben