In The Waiting Dark
Watching the window form itself into a ? mark
The way it will when night trees still, unknown
Close themselves around like a mirror in the waiting dark
Who is standing there with her glowing gown
Flowing up and over singing soft high heavenly airs
Counting the stars burning like candles set on armchairs,
With eyes so gray seen through the day gone bye
The spells she weeps like incantations of blue
Sad for the world that promised dreams untrue
Art is only a moment made to fly,
Patching the pages of memory
like books mended with tape and hope
Winds through your heart like a melody
fingers touch the end of the rope
Is tied to the present swinging out over an eternal sea
Where she waits to show you whatever there is that may be shown
The way,the will, when night trees still will be forever unknown,
Opens herself around like a mirror in the waiting dark
Watching your window form itself into a question mark . . .
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 970 times
Written on 2013-12-13 at 23:48
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