“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label late. Show all posts
Showing posts with label late. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10, 2016
No need for alarm
At 5 am I have already lost it.
And though it is quiet
still never came...
I feel strong coming on
and blunt edges fading away,
the light is too heavy to lift...
I leave it be-
as though I could pause the suns rise
and unsee what lies today
Ahead of time and out of tune-
Too late
to say anything new...
Photo credit By kallerna (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Tres (trace)
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...