As I walk through the long corridors of
time,
I hear the gentle nuance of silences,
sublime,
Soft fingered rosary beads in old church
aisles,
Memories of those at rest & their soft
lost smiles.
As I walk, I hear the whispering of old
ghosts gone,
From afar, the distant chanting of brass
Tibetan gong,
And brushing my wet cheek, the spider´s
soft wet web,
From old churchyard, hymn sung from raven´s
nasal neb.
And on my way, incense wafting on swish of
passing albs,
Gentle raindrops, released from heaven´s
opened valves,
Ancient memories dancing, from the halls of
Druid’s groves,
The day kisses night, garbed in a passion
of pinks & mauves.
Feathered breath clings to time, upon old
tombstone walls,
Going through ivy clad passageways, into
heaven´s silken halls,
I
know that life´s just a stroll, through longs halls & corridors,
And on Passing aisles & passageways, I
shall close all the doors.
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