When we hurtle through life so—



Joy Beckoning.

Despoiled – sometimes.

And away a feather.

Tender bright.

On the sunset that never was.

—  I resound without meaning.

Lost in shade.

Through all the flickering lights

The blaze glories.

The red and yellow streaks of fire

—  My last present.

Me, do I bequeath to you?

The night-time beckons.

When are we truly alive you and I?


But still it calls.




2 thoughts on “When….

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