The gentle lapping
Of foreign waves
Kissed barnacled wood
Now enslaved.
Frozen gaze
Rides train of thought
Hidden voices
Silent choices.
A low mass drains
In peppered Latin
Incense and ribbon
Stained glass latticed.
Beyond a dream
Or idle thought
Over a hill
Superstition caught.
In wonder still
Mans fears trapped
As those foreign waves
About me lapped.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: September 3rd, 2024 03:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
Offline)
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