Cities
Of
Youth
Are
Populous
With
Truth,
But
The
Metropolis
Of
Age
Seethes
With
Rage.
The
Eon
Day
Falls
To
Dusk,
Fond
Hope
A
Husk,
Years
Are
Cast
Into
Metamorphic
Fears,
And
Walls
Are
Raised,
As
Genius
Is
Denied,
And
Fools
Are
Praised.
The
Cities Of Youth Are Populous With Truth, But The Metropolis Of Age Seethes With Rage. The Eon Day Falls To Dusk, Fond Hope A Husk, Years Are Cast Into Metamorphic Fears, And Walls Are Raised, As Genius Is Denied, And Fools Are Praised.
0 Comments
These
Form The Reality We See, Walking Movie Streets In Movie Towns, The Movie World Goes Round, A Carousel Of Light And Sound. On Movie Screens We Yearn Lifelong To Be Heroic, Dreaming Mountain High, Caught In The Silvered Image Of A Movie Sky. The
Many Places In The World I Went, Those I Spent Precious Time With, Crowd Onto A Circular Stage, The Entire Cast Shrouded In The Past, All Still Keep Me Company, Although I Never Guessed The Last Leaf On The Tree Would Be Me. Today,
Cold Clouds Veil The Sun’s Glow And The Mountain Grows Opaque With Thin Snow. Last Night, The Full Moon Rose, Bleached Winter White, With Little Light To Guide Us Through The Frosty Night. Just
An Old Acquaintance, Separated By Long Distance, Fell From Existence, And I Never Knew. A Few Words Online Struck Deep, To Feel The Loss And Time’s Eternal Creep. Death Closed The Space Where She Dwelt In Grace, Now Resting In Another Place. Looking
For A Quiet Space, A Slower Pace, Time To Think, As Rain Falls In The Brain And Clouds The Light Of What Seems Wrong, But May Be Right. With
Age, Memories Become Impressions From A Prior Page, Imprints Of Another Day, And All I Had To Say. Far Away Fragmented Words, Calling From Another Time, In A Falling Line, An Attempt To Make Life Rhyme. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
March 2024
|