They all left in silence
With a hope of being reborn
To wear new clothes come this time
And not washed ones already worn

Can beauty be kept alive
In a bell jar
To never wither
Are dreams; going cold today,
From tommorow any better.
Will the seeds sowed and sheltered
When flowered shall remember
The last touch; it had felt
Before being buried in September
Or the journey shall sell it all
For that chance to breath once more
To see the sun in a different light
And find it the same as before
What afterlife claim no ails
In Meadows of Asphodel
What treasures can hold the sunken ship
Which in memory never set a sail

Perhaps in some distant way
The wind must too feel
Those flower which swayed with it
And the towers that stood ever still

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

5 thoughts on “Seance”

  1. Blown away once again!

    “What treasures can hold the sunken ship
    Which in memory never set a sail”

    You are a master of this art! 😎

    Also, reciting your poems aloud is a powerful delight! Nobody else’s poem (read wordplays) is worth reciting these days.
    Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

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