Aged Mirrors (87) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler
Aged Mirrors (87)
Slowly we learn
How to gather from our abyss
Little flowers.
Appeased hours.
Even the sadness is a calm tear,
A caress of water.
Dusk made of fatigue.
Even our rage is no longer a fire.
It is a candle:
Tears of light.
---
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
Monday, November 22, 2021
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7/31/2025 12:59:19 PM # 1.0.0
