A Time of Smoldering Wicks – A Poem

The weight of the ocean floor
Pulls at your bones. Bees sing
In your ear canal. We now live
In a time of smoldering wicks.
Things, undefined, come to
A close. The threshold is never
Crossed; they sink away, and
Life becomes a gradient.
A letter is pressed to paper
Again, again, it is grown pale.
Even in type, things turn quiet,
But not silent. All things, always
Undefined, fade, but not away.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s