The Altar Of Memory Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Altar Of Memory

Rating: 5.0


Memory's a dark glass held to the lips
Drink it, it turns to ice

It's a mad March hare, boxing shadows
A hole in a hedge that the wind whistles through

From the dog eared pages of yesterdays,
Longing slips the leash
Is a worm under the skin,
Burrowing

The mourner regrets the face that has faded from memory
Leaving a headless body

The lover who filled that slippery blue silk dress
Has gone into the nameless address of the past
Under the grass,
Under the grass
Into the house of the mole
The small blind mister
Her final squeeze

Friday, January 11, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: death
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kumarmani Mahakul 11 January 2019

Memory's glass becomes the dark during death. But when life comes in renewal then this glass becomes bright. An amazing poem is brilliantly penned..10

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