transition

the last poem of one era, the first poem of another

I had a dream, all threads and ribbons, bent metal and artifice, a thing of time and crafting,
until it was a symphony, the feathered edges cracking, and when I went to glue it after, I found that it was drifting from within.
a pretty marbled photograph, of an artist like an artifact, hoping lack-luster wishes of lustful kisses lost to sunsets soon forgotten...
aye, and as the pieces fell away, I found the sound was silence, and the noises made were mine.
Lost to time, and stolen glances, of a life I dreamed was out of my possession.
where walketh I, through this lush and pastel garden, bound in recollection...

where walketh I...

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

sounds like an extrordinary piece of craft, this picture frame, strong imagery and great writing

[David Aiello]

Thank you very much! I have kept to my glass box of oddments for a long time, I finally found poetry in a place to share it!
^______^