Friday, January 16, 2015


Day disappeared in shrouded gloom,
intense, secret and chilled to bone,
drifts of wondering possibility were
borne, in sightless, sundered feeling,

as if the sun had crumpled to its feet,
as I had, falling down onto cold, hard
earth, where, the ear could feel faint
but steady thump of dusted heart, and

mind could hear the call from stilled,
salted, frozen oceans which lay down
below the surface of my soul, calling
for the light to shine through fragments

of vision, swirling in that misted place
of nonbeing, dancing slowly with
broken steps, across the ground of the
past, where nothing could be seen as

form, or shape, or truth, and only the
glare of memory was mocking from
deliquescent depths of frosted night;
the fog within reflected in my world.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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