Time as trickster trawled my mind,

light and shadows drawn,

stringing seconds, sucking hours;

nothing clearly formed.

A minute stretched through ages,

a day was disappeared,

and in the dawning of the night

rode endless, ancient fears.

No shape to hold or form was set,

no structure could be found,

as mind was sent on inner quest;

there was no solid ground.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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