Nothing will ever stir
I had come to the house, in a cave of trees,
Facing a sheer sky.
Everything moved, -- a bell hung ready to strike,
Sun and reflection wheeled by.
When the bare eyes were before me
And the hissing hair,
Held up at a window, seen through a door.
The stiff bald eyes, the serpents on the forehead
Formed in the air.
This is a dead scene forever now.
Nothing will ever stir.
The end will never brighten it more than this,
Nor the rain blur.
The water will always fall, and will not fall,
And the tipped bell make no sound.
The grass will always be growing for hay
Deep on the ground.
And I shall stand here like a shadow
Under the great balanced day,
My eyes on the yellow dust, that was lifting in the wind,
And does not drift away.
Reader Comments (2)
I did not realize, that you write, in more than one place, on your blog. Silly me, for not exploring a bit more.
But now, I know....
What a beautiful piece of Art, is that statue.
Congratulations,
Fellow Story Teller!
✨ 📙 👏 ✨
@MBB ... I like to present on this page, what others write! Paired with pictures I take. If you love stories and poetry, then you are my friend! xoxo