Sunday, July 24, 2011

Late Night - An Experimental Poem

No dreams this night:
The silver portent - cold, bright
Hides behind her curtain
Looks down
Sees my lit window
and searches somewhere else
for another soul
to give her dreams to.

No dreams tonight:
The moral question - wrong, right
Echos around the chamber
Bends down
Fingers his gold trumpet
but considers another time
for another soul
to give his message to.

The earth is uprooted
And the cauldron is empty.

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