Poet Tellaferro Poet Rhyme

A White Room Iv

Into the white room
With folded time
Worn into the sublime
Watching the figure standing 
Here standing there 
In the corner 
Where the shadows bare
Where things dare
Watching the passing of a life 
In the strobes of one's afterlife
The flickers of memory 
The moments of history
The monuments of
The stuff that transcends 
The essence of a void 
What is made of
What was imagined
In the white room, the floor is bare
Nothing left there only two moments
Taken like photographs 
Can I of the soul see the ramifications
In the seconds that are folded and worn
Like photographs on the dead fireplace
The white room is getting cold 
The procession has come, old
The procession left nothing to bare
The passing of nothing 
Something rare
There on the floor, bare
I see a shadow roaming uncertain
Where time is warned bare
In a white room with black curtains 




an ode to stones

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