Peter S. Quinn


Endless Hour - Poem by Peter S. Quinn

The walls are falling
Thru the endless hour
Each faraway is calling
In the mist of shower
The beautiful things
That is still between
Of pearly glare strings
Those now unseen

When a day will rise
From its fresh root
In the eternal skies
Of all tides interlude
When the dark is still
Here around in deep
With silences distill
In its abysses sleep

Walls of surrounding
Every flow notion
In their first sounding
Moods of new emotion
Like harmonies awake
In the threads of new
Give and some take
As they come here thru


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 10, 2010



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