Face The See, (Forget)
Time that is a mask behindWhich the blind delude themselves
That they know what they see,
Perhaps we are the wind, (forget)
Away up here in the woods somewhere
To find what is found without a word
Or with supernatural solitude abide in peace
Time to take the place of talk your eyes
Monuments looming against the horizon of eternity
Such a wound is never bound to heal until the sunset
Mixes whorls of irises into islands singing on the sea
If I fly for you will you rise with me as high are we
Ourselves or the Wind, (forget)
Finding a face with which to be.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 1799 times
Written on 2014-03-05 at 01:47
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Commentally Ill |
