Faked-up Summons
"What it's a feast without any food?"
From the heights of poetry, art, or knowledge!
Beyond the profound sky, the vast surges drift
From afar with its enchanted tune, the scarlet heat,
The seasons beckon me up with its mystic shape;
Hold firm down the Earth in its shady appearance;
Wishes are, gestures are, even the meditative pathway
Has been unaware, a thousand curtains left it short
Of its true love, an abiding hold, or any pull through.
Poetry by Rex Islam
Read 971 times
Written on 2006-01-23 at 09:52
Tags Anxiety
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