Unready [sonnet]

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I wander slowly from the battle-scene;
no turning back to see the debris fall.
Filled with red light warnings in place of dreams;
I miss your good intentions most of all.

Crossing many ages on a mission —
shadowing angel visions from the past —
a stratospheric mid-air collision
became a question rather than a blast.

Though you say you’re there I cannot see you.
Slipping through my fumbling fingers, taken
by surprise, there’s nothing to appeal to.
Quizzical, I struggle to awaken.

Here is my hand, as steady as a rock.
I came for you but ready you were not.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

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