Poetry

The voyager’s oil lamp

 We are all voyagers

holding out our compasses

unsure of the next hurling tides

From whence the winds

come unannounced

we are left with countless questions

trailing our footway

like looming dark apparitions upon a night

 

We are soul deep

beaten by our own missteps

and then put together by the same

Far slidden between the rifts

of thin consciousness

we further drift by cold mist

earnestly guarding the one life

of a dying flame on our old oil lamps.

 

PhotoCredit: hallnjean.wordpress.com

PhotoCredit: hallnjean.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

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