Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, February 18, 2013

The Hollowness of Time

Time stole in
lighthanded as a pickpocket
Took her youth
quick as a gasp
Passing by the glass, she glimpsed 
fissures at the fault lines of her surface
saw her structure sinking
She hadn’t noticed
this slow decay of her self
until the instant it caught her 
off guard

She wondered
whether Venetians perceived their city sinking
little by little or
Would they find themselves one day
knee deep in water and ask
“When did this happen?”

She once had been called a rock
Sturdy, stable, strong
and grew to embrace this image
But even rocks erode over time
crumbling to gravel
then dust
What would she be
if she fractured?
She imagined herself a geode
delicate, crystalline beauty at her core
But she suspected
that under the exterior


Pat Tillett said...

Mother Earth has seen better days, that's for sure...
So have I!

Fireblossom said...

The image of the geode is a masterstroke.

I am always asking, in relation to matters of age, "How do these things get started???" One minute I was young, then I wasn't. It won't be happening the other way around.

Really neat poem, LM!

Brian Miller said...

i would like to think inside we might find something that would surprise us...i know so few that are not fractured and even them i suppose...time will do that though...in hopes it does not hollow us out...

Margaret said...

Quite introspective Really a great poem.