auden-lost

Lost on a fogbound spit of sand
In shoes that pinched me, close at hand
I heard the plash of Charon’s oar,
Who ferries no one to a happy shore.

Thought:

“Oh my, yes, I am afraid that in the beginning was the Word, that the Word was with God, that indeed the Word was with God; afraid that’s there’s no escaping it and its heavy consequences, for Him, for You, for Me.”

Austryn Wainhouse | Hedyphagetica

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