Friday, September 16, 2005
His wings stand almost still;
In flower-dance adagio
He grinds his airy mill.
Does time inch on? I cannot tell;
These chains upon my eyes
Ensnare my sight, a dreamlike spell
That every sense defies.
With years to bare remains distilled,
The hours are boiled away;
The album of my heart is filled
With scenes in fading gray.
My soul is nailed as to a post,
So brutally transfixed,
Pierced through by what desired most
The cruelest pain inflicts.
While seconds crash as slow as days
A minute seems a year;
The eye with understanding plays:
I watch you pass, my dear.
© 2005 Jeffrey Hull