Hark! Don’t thy hear it, there Upon the blowing winds of change, Where mountains crumble and valleys rise, Giving birth to purgatory’s gaze. That low moan of death, as it Washes ashore upon the waves To lap at our rotting flesh covered feet. The moon hangs low, blood coloured Shadows weave a morose painting As a love withers and dies, While life sinks deeply into the churning waters That ebb and flow on timeless seas. Cast me out, now, I beg of thee, Set me free among the living So that I might find my way before evening ends. I want to live! I scream to the heavens, Hoping against all hope that this world Will accept me without question. In this twilight of life, I beg of thee, of this world For the sweetest of mercies, please, grant me this one Last dying wish of life! Yet, in my heart, in the deepest part of my dying soul, I know the truth of all this, it’s laid out before me Staring at me, through me, saying none of this shall Ever be.
This collection of poetry addresses the nature of time, reflections on the natural world, the difficulty of loss,
contemporary social issues and gratitude for life.
In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!
Share
Print
Save
Follow
