Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The Bending of Time

It dissipates soundlessly
Into the clutch
Of history’s broadening palm
Splendor of heaven
That man cannot touch
Glorious, infinite calm
In the manner of centuries
Like never before
It bleeds on the edge of earth’s scape
Our humble gaze riveted
To the matador
Flinging o’er day's end a red cape
And moments of present
Dissolve on the lips
Of twilight dissolving the stage
Where purple-blue deepens
On time’s finger-tips
Bent on the turning of page

© Janet Martin

Above is a small taste of moody March, thus far. Actually, I quite like her mood this week! This poem was inspired tonight...the last # of photos on the slide-show.

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