These feeble remarks will not sound out the consonants of the soul with cadence and fervour.

…nor will the sand slip
between these moments
where past marks
bruise the coarse surface
of the day.
…nor will the hours
fold gently into blankets,
white and emptied,
whose grace turned humbly
from the eyes of god.
…nor will the night lie open,
swaddled in parchment
and swollen by the heat,
while poets weep the loss
of such cherished hollows.

©2013 Jessica Stephenson All Rights Reserved

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About inpotentia

Hold Fast.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to These feeble remarks will not sound out the consonants of the soul with cadence and fervour.

  1. Kyle says:

    I love this. Stirred my spirit.

    Like

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