Private High Poem by Salvatore Ala

Private High

After the first wave we step outside.
Predawn floods the arena
Of the mind like another drug.
The lake is like a gray plane.
Small wavelets seem sculpted
At exact intervals of sand and foam.
The hour is enlarged.
Every minute touches
The outer circle of the infinite.
My friend, overwhelmed
By rapture, weeps at the lucid
Disclosing of beauty;
He's never seen his soul,
Never been so transparent.
Somehow the clarity
Has me immensely happy.
I stand on the cottage shore
Like some divine being.
I will never see farther,
Never comprehend more.
I look out at the lake
And embrace eternity
Like a gift to myself
I can't open until I die.

Sunday, November 18, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: mortality
Bernard F. Asuncion 18 November 2018

Salvatore, such a well penned poem................

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Salvatore Ala 19 November 2018

Thank you. Quickly approaching sixty years of age I feel I am at the height of my creative powers. Thanks again, friend.

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Chinedu Dike 18 November 2018

Well articulated and nicely brought forth with insight. A poignant creation. Thanks for sharing Salvatore.

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Salvatore Ala 19 November 2018

Thank you again. I'm not sure what to do with the poems I write. Sharing them is a natural instinct. The idea of publishing them in a book seems so pedestrian. Better wings than bindings. Cheers, friend.

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