Mania, Maybe

What's this? For reasons so obscure
As those which stole the light, the light
Appears again, and, with it, hope.
Is this salvation, slippery words?
Is she, who's come so many times,
And gone, but said she'll come again?
Is there some odor in the air, the smell
Of fallen leaves, of cold, that reaches
That more basic me, and warms, like
Embers still unseen, the higher parts,
The fragile ones, which break with
Regularity? I cannot say. I cannot
Fix my senses on the cause of this
Most welcome change. I marvel,
Asking once more, what is this?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 21 times
Written on 2011-11-07 at 12:36

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