A Dark Embrace
No powerhouse or wondrous treasure house,
This would-be store with walls of muddied glass,
With recall indistinct and fading fast,
Untrusted, shifting, merciless impasse,
Where splintered life is mocked and alien hope
Seeks solace in soft-spoken thought, which caught
Upon the wayward breeze, a floating seed,
May yet to meaning and new life be brought
Within this fragile oft-times weeping place.
As night encroaches, yet again we pause,
Perhaps perceiving immortality,
But all that echoes is our self-applause.
Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2017
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