discessum paradisum

October 29, 2013 § Leave a comment

I plodded my way
through mid day graylight
listening to the
forearm of November
the last warm day
into it’s crypt

I know the requiem well

and it knows
the way inside
knows where
to set it’s weight

I try not to
focus on
the length of the piece
as the ship turns
toward the horizon

I’m on the pier
without even the
energy to lift a wave

the chorus rises again

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead


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