Jul/Aug 2018 Poetry |
Image courtesy of British Library Photostream
Time Morphs
The world was solid,
concrete, permanent
to my childish eyesbut as I grew in the
sun's heat, images
shimmered, the
wax figures of
monumental elders
melted and
pooled at my feetleaving me
dismayed, unable to
see clearly through the
shadows that
shade the day and
warn of night's
enduring end.