slipping before the curtain

slipping before the curtain
the satin of our fleeting days
hissing in the late sun
I see phantom days
of a future past
footprints in wet sand fading
the dare of the young
the reckoning of summers
that will never be

all is what I cannot see
shards of coloured glass
in a spiel for a lost meaning
ducking in fields
where seasons come and go
where man is of the earth
a vessel for the wind
a quick breath
daring the inevitable

Poetry by Bob
Read 454 times
Written on 2016-06-11 at 20:37

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Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
eloquent telling of the end of a day and a life. so much more than this in each line. Do I project myself inside these moments or are they projected upon me? I do not know. I just feel them.