‘The ‘Dying of the light’,
 ‘the lights go out’,
           ‘gone out’
 that’s the view from inside
And how would you know?
How would anyone know?
Who returns against so strong a tide?

In this realm we are near sighted
We see close up, not beyond
What we see is
what sounds there are
  what movement we note,
the ethers of life
seeking an exit.

No purpose, no goal
 no desire to drive the machine
An empty glove, a dropped hammer
No sight to gauge the beam

About thelastminstrel

Carpenter, very minor poet and writer, history buff, frustrated prospector, singer, guitar player [I'm still trying to convince the guitar that I'm not going to hurt it] the most eclectic reader I know, second born of four brothers, father of two sons,-------

Posted on March 8, 2021, in Rymes, Where This Road Goes. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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