Only Spin
Like a lantern on a train
Random pattern of the rain,
Like the sound made by a ghost
All that's found traded for lost,
When the world is only spin
And the symbols deep within
Move apart and then decay
When the night becomes the day
Every eye that saw a blank
Was staring not to see or thank
What was never very plain
One may only look again
All that's found traded for lost
Like the sound made by a ghost
Random pattern of the rain
Like a lantern on a train.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 940 times
Written on 2018-01-27 at 02:25
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