On this rueful menu

Of sprawls of blanked windows,

The world seems in retreat.

Nowhere is idyllic,

No place remains the same.

Our damp minds shed some tears

Of unknown provenance;

Nothing belongs to us.

The old ones, lying flat,

Unburied, unreplaced,

Stretch out beyond our dreams,

Beyond our memories.

Lost in our foulest mood,

Are we still visible?

◄ Fahrenheit 451

Messiah ►


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Stephen Gospage

Wed 20th Oct 2021 17:09

Thanks, Nigel and thanks to Holden for the like.

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Nigel Astell

Wed 20th Oct 2021 00:46

Waiting to explode into a brand new day when it comes - - -
we say goodbye to the burdens of too many down trodden paths
great poem.

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