upon reading an anthology
what mind of past is sitting here with me
staring steadfast there with waiting eyes
for my mind to catch my breath and choke
upon what is written in posterity laid down
the thoughts of many a poor minded soul
spun upon a past day’s turning fine around
a realisation that every time will in its time
sway the composure of the haunted souls
fell certain their penned pinnacle had been
reached by well-spring’s much divined time
lessons painly received at their steadfast hour
when the clock chimes stop long turned to
me and invite a nodded tear and a beloved
smile that all is well between us now as well
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