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by Roy K Austin
My old clock ticks away the day
that haemorrhages the evening,
and like a night nurse at the bed
as growing lesions slowly spread,
the crescent moon would nothing say
to see the patient pass away ;
the stars call out but they are late -
what metaphysics spring from that
while in my soul eternity
is smiling like the Cheshire cat !
As if it brushed against my legs
to travel up into my brain, -
if man evokes the universe
that cat will still remain:
A presence haunts me as that touch -
that hugs the heels in failing light,
with eyes that peer through space and time
and follow me into the night.
From the mysticseed