Half Life

Life turns on a dime
most days, and gives no change
but every now and then
the changes ring a carillon
above my head.
so loud the dead themselves
sit up, take note and start to talk.
I write pretty words
that sing of sunsets,
paint the golden path of dawn,
a tapestry of delicate delight
that hides the bitter neatly
in the sweet, enticing you
to come and play,
to wander in the gentle dreams,
illusions that I give away
and sometimes drown in
when the bones of truth
crush hard against
the endless moment
I inhabit
Sweet echoes of mortality
are drumming on the anvils in my head
and somewhere, buried deep
I find there is a yes and no
a stop and go, a walk, don’t walk
all dancing their duality
across the single page
I write on.
The sound of one hand
clapping is heard
by just one ear
and only one eye burns
with just one tear.

by Midnight Clarity

Comments (1)

Awesome poetry! Cheers Anita