When end breathes fog
On clammy cheekbones
Freshly exposed—
Where wisdom’s echo gavels
The eardrums of fledgling brothers,
As distant flickers
Tease out visions
Warm and blurry—
The Master casts secrets
Crisp and dry
On an altar of ornamentals.
Here the aged seekers
Mill about death’s porch,
The unborn soul raps at an exit,
And the young sit wondering
In a darkened corner.


Poet’s Note:

Image Credit: Devanath on Pixabay.