Can I buy magic amulets to waken my first face?
Can dry fingers of night pat my rainy freckles
when voyagers wake the legions of dust?
Day does not give way into night
nor night to morning---only monotony
yet words take once more to wing as
spectral wraiths,
wanderers greyer than death raptapping gates of answers
past ages and walls
into the great unknown,
drowning, flooding, gushing me
in echo.
Though ash is my beginning and
dust my end
I am caught in limitless colored corridors
in which my footsteps wend amazed...
2 comments:
My dear friend peter
I don't know what to make of the "..." at the "end" of Your poem!
Does this mean it is up to the reader is left to complete the rest of the Poem? Or rather does it mean that I don't know what to click to access the rest of your poem?
Interesting question, Al, the "..." dots trail off as an 'echo' of the footsteps as if to continue the wonder of the final verse --- beyond the poem!
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