The Point

What where is which?
Diluting now.
The cast of such in coloured light, my truth parades a humble coat.
Time turns the mix uneasy.

The lunar call repeats low, shadow filled intent with self.
The nocturnal bloom in western sky of shapes seen throughout.
My love a light – beacon shone inward to out the depth.

Still words remain, loyal tomes and empty pages.
Pale opal page my mantra sought to stem the tide alone.
A boy decides and contemplates – conflict, truth and all. Under oak imagined firm.

The flicker scent of you remains – the shadow on the wall.
Captured still to hold, the thought does tumult so.
The tangle, the grass with sky – spread underneath my foot. Above in gaze no strife to be.

So time talks to me alone, but solitude wanders away.
An appointment to keep with itself.
In subtle verge, soft adorned – I ponder –
The point.

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~ by Paul McGovern on January 10, 2012.

One Response to “The Point”

  1. Stamped with your signature beautifully.

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