Marking Time: (August15th,2020)
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Summer's blood flows like
Wine through the verdant veins of
Trees, plants andflowers.
Yet within us, itoften
Seems to be stifled.
Consciousness can kill the flow
Of tender insight
And feeling: human failing.
Many troubled thoughts
Sneer and snarl atwell- being.
Miracles of light
Slowly emerge from behind
Drowsy, thick, white clouds.
Nature's forgotten whispers,
That once emitted,
Hope to past ages, drift on
The curious wind.
Time passes by. O It is
Indifferent to
Our present woes! Yet I ask
Surreptitiously
When will Love sprout wings again?
Can we ever hope
To break away from self - doubt
And the confines of
This purely functional age?
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