Quiet angel draw a clock for me
Let the feathers fly and heaven fall
If my Night-Bird cannot from his mind be freed
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Author:
Severus Alexander (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 29th, 2017 16:06
- Category: Love
- Views: 19
Offline)
Comments1
I read it as our deeds we are not proud of coming back to haunt us. Well that is probably not what you indended but I enjoyed readin and reading again this enigmatic jewel.
A poem is like an impression in soft leather. The indentation of concepts upon the workable surface of a writer's mind.. I am that surface; I am party to a deep knowledge of each of its curves, and I need not trace its grooves with my fingers to make out the form of the poem by touch.. but the reader, in the absence of that knowledge, must take his own meaning-- such as yours-- by looking at the image of the poem, its lines and curves; and imprinting them upon his own mind.
What a beautiful description. Thanks.
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