It is Possible, I Suppose

It is possible I suppose one could grow old

Forgetting things, misplacing memories

Among the dull and lengthening days alone.

It is possible I suppose, to live within

The offices of doubt whose concrete walls

Shut out the light, re-circulate stale air

And make mistrust a truth supplanting faith,

Possible, I suppose to wed despair

And make unholy marriage in the mind,

Possible for souls to live in grief

Forgetting beauty to whom they once had bowed,

Or a God in whom they held a firm belief.

It is possible, I suppose, that trees

Cry out to heaven reaching for more light

And stars are aware of whose light they reflect,

That sparrows believe in an eternal spring

And flowers in a thousand shades bedecked

In their magnificence and plenitude

Bloom for love and loving earth the more

Are somehow always in a festive mood.

All things are possible in man's ascent

And all is real that dream or thought feels true,

A place for weariness and for lament

And visions of a world transformed anew.