The light settles over a bed of mists,
Sinking, surrounding, enclosing,
Molding dull corridors whose matter is the earth,
The hard and dank obscurity of halls,
An insignia’s pride and history’s
Squint under slumbering cobwebs of yarn.
Whose tall transoms yawn with the hunger of muzzled
Beasts, ancient hounds on their stony watch,
Unsuffering hands of masters or their
Keep while spread the banisters of gloom?
Whose arching infinity strides across corridors
Past prying feet like a torch -- whose shadows ensnare
Our commas in what monolithic song?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment