deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hand In A Glove
This is the edge of solitude,
the latitude at which
birds cease to sing
& life crowns death as king.
No moon, only the stars
recognize your scars:
they point the way
to where all lives lay.
As the only witness
to this twilit stillness,
you cry absinthe tears
for absent friends
& forgotten years.
A descending melody
your ears can't avoid
escorts you to the void:
there, silence rains
from heaven above.
You'll disappear
like a hand in a glove.
the latitude at which
birds cease to sing
& life crowns death as king.
No moon, only the stars
recognize your scars:
they point the way
to where all lives lay.
As the only witness
to this twilit stillness,
you cry absinthe tears
for absent friends
& forgotten years.
A descending melody
your ears can't avoid
escorts you to the void:
there, silence rains
from heaven above.
You'll disappear
like a hand in a glove.
Published Yesterday
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.. grim solitude & silence only remains.. in this starry heavenly elevations you take one .. where life descends to a point & then unto the nothingness.. though sadness is in emphasis, feels there is a peaceful, a bit rejoicing spiritual dimension of liberation or moksha - that which is the sole wish n wait for any truthful soul dear Poet.. this is a fine poem, though reads deeply sad n but happy for that ultimate element of moksha I feel in here xx
