After
wrapped moon-silvered and glimmering
listen and hear the collective chorus sing in
gathered crescendoed filaments from a street still simmering
with the heat of past passion drifting in the soft night breeze
the music of Muse call ripples down the dusky avenue each to another
on that wet cobblestoned street, emptied and departed, washed in living
lyrics - sweet, painful, searing, soul seizing
wispy, wafting, fragments lift shimmering with soft light
as the last poet walks with slow steps alone into the darkening night
Leaving
sole foot-falls indelibly rising from glistening ground
to meet with the others, for truly leaving this place, though challenges concluded
shall never be, once Muses have met, dance and dipped, each slips
into the archival ever of the glowing after leaving ever-present
glimpsed in the rustle of leaves on a soaring oak
in the tumultuous shower of white chestnut blossoms
on the glistening of that forever wetted cobblestoned street
Here
as the wind sings of all that was, and remains, in the breath of
poets past, present and those that will come to walk for a while and leave
footfalls in the mist, whispers riding the wind
After leaving ..
No comments:
Post a Comment