Aged Mirrors (67) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler
Aged Mirrors (67)
It's late in our life.
We follow no longer rules.
We make them.
Our years grew old.
We learn the heaviness
Of our last wings,
Our last feathers.
Evening. Nothing left to confess.
We realize
Our life, our evening
Are as pure, as impure as pain.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
Friday, October 9, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: spiritual
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6/16/2024 12:31:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
