In situ

I can see by your clenched fists when you sleep
that your real enemy not yet has shown its real face


The cliché of interlaced fingers that preludes the night
echoes more like an incantation against that
which ran through them when you didn't see


But heaven seems to turn its silence
against the stumbling syntaxes of blood


And I can only try to guide your longing
up over the silver vaults  in silentium
which crystals of the first night frost
draw on the flowers in the meadow of fall

 





Poetry by Telesforos
Read 817 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2010-09-27 at 17:06

Tags Comfort  Sorrow  Love 

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This text has been chosen to be featured on the front page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting it on our poetry web site.
2010-10-18



I think this is a beautiful poem. I see by your bio that English is a second language for you. The slight awkwardness this creates enhances the poem. It shines and it touches all the senses.

jim
2010-09-28