My eyes were opened on a scene in a dream
in the dark of my heart where the spark of my art
had fallen apart
and yet the wind
where the passion begins
still blew strong
through the chasm of the has been
and the ruins of deep doings
stirring an alluring
memory
of things that were yet
meant to be
So I stood
as I thought I should
among the dell of the bells
and the field unshielded
where time was released
as it pleased in my soul
with the goal of painting
the tree there in me
and in my vision of what could be
when I allowed myself to see
eternity
(December 13th, 2017)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
