12-24-2012, 03:07 PM
This winter is a moving cloud
On the gray palette before me.
The leaning fog reaches upward
To meet a lowering shroud.
The days, hidden and diffuse.
The nights, curtained and lifeless.
Nothing distinct, nothing of detail,
Not a break, a star, or an edge to see, I am
Here in the cleft of this rock.
Alone on my watch, in my hour.
Waiting for something eternal.
This has been edited 2 times while in the Novice section. Please feel free to say what you feel about the poem. Thanks.
On the gray palette before me.
The leaning fog reaches upward
To meet a lowering shroud.
The days, hidden and diffuse.
The nights, curtained and lifeless.
Nothing distinct, nothing of detail,
Not a break, a star, or an edge to see, I am
Here in the cleft of this rock.
Alone on my watch, in my hour.
Waiting for something eternal.
This has been edited 2 times while in the Novice section. Please feel free to say what you feel about the poem. Thanks.