Aged Mirrors (69) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler
Aged Mirrors (69)
Hours made of dusk.
The last harbor of dreams.
We invent
Our last boat.
It's late in our soul.
We still don't know
What is more important:
The way we lived
Or the way we die.
Twilight, so close to death.
Everything seems useless,
Even the soul.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
Friday, October 30, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: spiritual
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5/11/2024 7:29:12 PM # 1.0.0.1119
