Aged Mirrors (68) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler
Aged Mirrors (68)
Late hours.
We're soldiers of no one.
We follow our own cry.
Hours made of evening.
Fear is not a tyrant anymore.
It is an old friend.
It knows the name of our pain.
The twilight in our mouth.
We smile
Not brave, nor in fear.
As if ready.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
Friday, October 9, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: spiritual
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5/23/2024 7:43:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
