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Open Poetry #34
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One to twelve, the end.
| Open Poetry #34 |
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One to twelve, the end. |
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Honeybunch Member Rara Avis
since 2001-12-29
Posts 7115South Africa 
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When the sounds of midnight strike one to twelve, the end, I’ll dream again the dream of hope one last and final time before it disappears into the depths of me to lie as stagnant water and forever breed dis-ease. The treatment may be long behind the scenes of real and recovery too slow to make an impact on my soul but what’s a little time to those who fill the air and do not give a care for how a body yearns? Cunningly they whisper and stretch time to suit agendas behind the closed door we all know is called the veil and who would ever think the so thin and flimsy could prevent one such as me from casting my vote. I’ve tried of course, I really have, to ask and then receive but I’ve moved from where I was, I can’t prove where I am, and they say so ever sweetly that it’s surely not their fault. And so the only promise is another year of change decreed by the one who knows all dis-ease however gained is always left behind in the stretch of time … and it stretches, and it stretches, till one day it snaps back and we simply start again with the “what if” and “if only” we could ask and then receive! |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
thought-provoking write here |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
When the sounds of midnight strike one to twelve, the end, I’ll dream again the dream of hope Somehow sad ponderings, but the dream of hope is there. May it not become as stagnant water ... May it bloom into reality. Well done! Love and Joy. Margherita  |
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