The End

Seconds break from ocean of time,
sculling through foaming minutes,
dragging waves of sodden hours,
thundering into dropped days as

they wash upon life’s sandy feet;
crumbled careering of bubbled
beginnings, and frothing ends,
those months, years and decades

which sluice our hearts from birth
unto death, as seabirds scree and
sing above, darting through puff
of cloud and curious wind, in that

dance of life which has no end,
and yet which, in truth, has never
begun, for all is caught: an eternity
of bright and shining imagination.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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