Unless



Burning City of glass and sand
Tarnished lamps flickering varnished rue
The Day recedes has run to seed so faraway and blue
Secret numbers milling masses stir and coalesce
Their goddess marches through starry marshes
She wears their dreams and themes just like a borrowed dress,
Who may say they know her name, her face the intimate caress,
Violet Tower High as Kingdom Come Dreams are Shadows
Sleeping in The Wake of Dawn are thrown
Into All that Is and never was
Only wishing upon not because
Forever Is and Always Unknown
Things manifest nearly the end
March in place, replace a face, pretend
Unless.



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 493 times
Written on 2018-01-13 at 15:54

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