Stepping stones
By jvriesema
- 238 reads
Medieval stones
wind upon fern-covered paths;
time constructing tunnels of leaves and moss.
Through ancient windtunnels,
your voice echoes forever upon a scale of notes.
A taxi winds through cobblestone streets;
silver rain streaking the glass.
Puddles become their own streetlamps
ebbing and flowing like a quiet tide.
You pause before words that are spoken with emotion;
tears becoming the rain.
Thunder echoes across the walls of steel and glass
that are
silent amongst the backround of modernity.
You quote a line from an obscure thought,
And search for the connection
between wind and words.
It is a conflict..
you and me..
a conflict of images of versailles
and five o'clock rush-hour.
It is the opening of ancient language..
your sagas torn apart by the speed of an early morning train.
The rain falls through snowflakes.
And line after line of ancient poems trace the fog in the window;
your breath escaping toward the blurred light of a london fog.
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