hark
hark back,
the angels say,
to rough wordless stories
of when the world
was new
and we believed
in matter
and miracles
our eternal tales
(and the best tales are all eternal,
aren't they?)
tell of the secret spaces
between heartbeats
where we reside,
and grow up,
and,
momentarily,
die
we want to believe
in the simplicity
of breath
and dirt
and forgiveness
but they seem far away from us
now
like the way you witness the stars,
a burnt-out pantomime,
a memory
in this world made in your own image,
not in ours.
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Comments
Very nice. In that way I understood it.
--
Pain and jealousy,envy and desire,and something deeper than they are,stronger than love and more subterranean.
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