They Are Marching




 They are marching
where the red flowers bloom
They are marching and sometimes stoop to gather
the white and fallen fragments of the moon

They are sleeping
and dying with the hours
they are sleeping and hallucinating sweetly
white swans and lilies in their bowers

They are falling
where bones turn into pennants
They are falling like the spines of dusty hymnals
where angels count forgetfulness as penance.

Comments

  1. *They are falling like the spines of dusty hymnals"..wow that is one magnificent line wrapped in a deeply sad but gorgeous poem!! You are on a prolific poetic roll my friend!! You are ready for your next amazing book!!

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  2. Beautiful and sad, sweet and acidic, full of perfect, crafted lines that resonate like music in the ear. You are on such a roll, Shay! Thank you for sharing your amazing gift with us.

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  3. WOW! Your imagery is, as always, astounding!!!!!

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