Mary E Fullerton

The Skull

O BOWL that held the hot imprisoned fire,
Cup where the sacred essence used to burn—
That fluent essence that shall ne’er return—
Old home of Aspiration and Desire:
What art thou now to honour and admire?
A thing inconsequential one might spurn,
Thou art not e’en the scattered ashes’ urn;—
Husk of the spirit that shall not expire.

Thou cage and shell of ancient busy Thought,
Nurse-house of Soul, the domicile of him
Long fled thy osseous walls that Nature wrought
To please proud Time’s caprice and passing whim;
’Twixt two eternities a moment caught,
He rose from thee to join the seraphim.

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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Comments about The Skull by Mary E Fullerton

  • Brian JaniBrian Jani (6/30/2014 7:57:00 AM)

    one of my favourite poems of today.keep up the superb writing

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Read poems about / on: nature, rose, house, fire, home, time