Monday, August 31, 2015

Excerpt 11 from "Seasons"

All time is on a shorter string as years are clipped and dried
The inch is daily measure, now, where, once, a yard applied
I feel momentum growing like tsunami in the tide
What is it that will wash ashore, of that I have not spied
The shadow movements in the dark
Alone, I flick and then I spark
Revealed by flame throughout all time
The way in which the thoughts combine
Converging once the season's gone
Like evening shadows on the lawn
It's pointing to the subtle fact
That, now, I've gone and, then, come back
I take a sip of coffee and I watch the starscapes reel
Upon the roof, I lay on back, my soul now made of steel

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 © 2012 whickwithy

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