Who waits for me? And why for me to wait?
The Gate swings a pearl door - the beckoning,
Perhaps a fate.
Alas, the ancient gods, the ghostly hands,
...
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The poet and the lyre, the martyrs dawn, Are vanquished to the page; Truth turned to myth, Freed to breathe, freed to be, An hour's eternal Grace Shimmering the Pure. Very nice poem…. So many points packed up in this poem. A spiritual one Thank you very much dear poet. tony
A nice poetic imagination, Alven. You may like to read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks