Time is a stage magician
Pulling sleight-of-hand tricks
To make you think things go.
Eclipsed by the quick scarf—
A lifetime of loves.
The child is man.
The friend in your arms
Is earth.
The green tree is gold, is white,
Is smoking ash, is gone.
Time’s trick goes on.
All things loved—
Now you see them, now you don’t.
Oh, this world has more
Of coming and of going
Than I can bear.
I guess it’s eternity I want, where
All things are and always will be,
Where I can hold my loves
A little looser,
Where finally we realize:
Is the only thing that really dies.

Carol Lynn Pearson is, in the words of some book sellers, “the hottest Mormon poet on the market.”

Her poems have the unusual distinction of being read and loved in both common and literary circles.


A shrill white scream of light
Can pierce an eye and fuse it back to black from red
Or mend a brain or weave a pattern in the wind,
Can cleave a star or ride the hurricane,
Or spread the fires of never-land
And race untouched by human hand
(It goes a law unto itself).
A shrill white scream of light
Threads spirit, tunnels fluidly,
And washes worlds in poetry
Of starkest truth;
May travel past imagination’s speed;
In short, do almost any deed
Man has the will and wisdom to pursue.
If you are light, God,
I want to be like you.

To Those Who Will Not

The blind are those who refuse to see;
The dead are those who will not live;
The deaf are those who try not to hear;
The mute are those who have nothing to say.
I, a senseless man, am all:
Too blind to see a growing thing;
Too dead to feel the sun;
Too deaf to hear a morning bird;
Too mute to thank my God.
I, a senseless man, am all.
As I run, I crush the growing thing;
In my mind, I hide from the Son.
I lie and deny me the morning bird;
I speak with my heart in a cage.
I, a senseless man, do all.
And yet—
Still there is a growing thing;
Still there is the sun;
Still sweetly sings the morning bird;
Still God is never gone.
I, no longer senseless, feel love.


I set a snare for knowledge
On every epic page;
Pursued the word of wisdom
Up and down an age;
Poet, saint, and wise man
Stealthily I stalked;
Listening, I followed
The very ways they walked.
But soon I stood astounded,
For every path they trod
In the end curved widely,
Swiftly back to God.

The Timeless Search

Prophecy and revelation
tell of times to come
when hearts will fail.
Men will wander to and fro,
searching everywhere for God
without success,
Because they never learned
to know him,
I wonder—
will I need
to search for him?
Or, at that time, will we be friends
from long association
of deep love?

Two Dawns

With half-awake syllables,
We greet each new
On our before-dawn drive
To seminary.
Hunched in cold coats,
We barely notice
The light dusting of snow
On the streets.
Once inside
The church house,
We become more aware of each other.
Scripture chase and discussion
Sunlight our minds,
Of the pewter dawn
Januarying outside.