The Death of Time
Through the window,
the white silk sheets,
I see dark branches,
old shadows,
grey sillouettes of me,
twirling, twirling, twirling,
as if their limbs
were mine, with circles
drawing back the hands,
leaves, hours, time,
to sweep dry clouds
away, and have the rain
& grey all spent, leaving
only colour, dawn,
the quick arriving day.
Copyright © Ph.D Volo Von Wolfenstein | Year Posted 2012
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