The colored pills,
the silent wills of mood,
lay untouched beside her bed - -
the plastic cup a brew, a sorcery of view
now left behind, abandoned to a time,
a trail blind, inclined toward a light,
enigma's flight waiting after all,
calling to an image - - the lineage of a mind,
the thought, the spirit caught, wandering
to a place, a space, the repose of embrace,
before returning once again, and again
to the room...the whiteness looming in the walls,
the crawling hours bleeding,
watch towers receding with the time;
the days, the years, the pearl tears divine,
flowing down her face, withered fingers
left to trace, along the shadow lines - -
the signs of change - - the chains
of eighty years, now etched into the past,
life fragments amber cast,
fading into frames, each pictured name a face,
the tattered lace of friends, departed
songs of then, brief notes to answer when
or where, the something there
seen through the window pane,
beyond the pain, the waning tree,
the grey of green, the sky, the scene,
- - all outside - - the voices hiding in the leaves,
the restless calling to believe,
now muted through the glass - -
the whispered wind
gently slipping from her grasp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is absolutely wonderful! It flows so effortlessly. Great poem.