I feel encumbered by the noon today, And no degree of winter light can pool Within the parched, recessive vestibule Which houses all my uncreative clay Sufficient warmth to make the atoms play. Am I troubled by an empires toxic fuel? Stupidities of corporate misrule? By slavery and war? I cannot say. But then I see your face, at rest upon A pillow that the moon has made a pearl; The candour of your gaze, the cabochon Glimmer that you share before the dawn, Your innocence, your love. And these unfurl The truth of my encumbrance: you are gone. -- Friday, March 14, 2014.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Mar 2014 20:18:02 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015