angels at the pagan threshold

Posted: June 24, 2013 in My Poetry
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landscape seen by standing eye

on wind stripped rooftops edge,

answers pilgrims of nausea

fall as if from the depths of the sky,

horizon alone with forest

sun faced green silk and gold,

tracks of those who journey in faith

into the still of wooded glade,

within voices imagined

brambles pulled by enraged fingers

mess and tangle hide

that place used as a remote hope,

he should be there

pale faced

emotions a fountains stream

pleasure would not be found

with slackened vines,

this horizon embraced him

pulled into its complex afternoon

where time lie down

petal seconds fall,

chaos is not for choosing

sleep will not be heeded

as these files of thought

are put away,

staunched by class,

those in power jailers to tomorrow,

gas would fill indecent blue

and many more would fall,

for the sake

of secrets of kings

prompt , poetry, poem

wordle

Sunday Whirl, poems

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Comments
  1. ms pie says:

    politics bah.. !!! on a sweeter note the nectar is often as sweet as salty….. i think of sorrow deep in a place we all see and observe but hardly absorb…

  2. magicalmysticalteacher says:

    “chaos is not for choosing”

    Oh, I so agree with that line! However, I find that chaos often chooses me… 😦

    Whirl: My Father

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