<\/div>\n

In a Season Called Now<\/strong><\/p>\n

Season’s believin’, and believed-in seizin’,
\ngraven the grief from a grievin’ grave.
\nConceived in deceit, believin’ deceivin’,
\nbeyond the recoil of a reason to save.
\nShedding the skin of a molten shine,
\nshone in the shade of a molted shed,
\nbetween the before and outside the behind,
\na season of molt in a deadlock of dread.<\/p>\n

A-fore-thought, the malace,
\na-fore-thought the dread,
\nall for naught the dreadnaught,
\nall for naught and instead,
\ninstead of the peace
\nthere are pieces and peaceless,
\nspeechless the dead full of leafless
\nbelief. Shorn in the fall, in the full fall
\nof autumn, increased and deceased
\nin the meaningless
\nsaid.<\/p>\n

What cannot be said, therof be silent,
\nwhat cannot be said, the thoughtcrime of now,
\nrevealing unsaid, the facecrime of violence
\ndissent that’s forbidden, dissent that’s endowed.<\/p>\n

All will be well and all will be holy,
\nand all manner of things will be misunderstood,
\nin the blink of an eye, in the I of a solely,
\nin a season called now, in a season of could.<\/p>\n

~ Terry Provost<\/p>\n