When the poet ceases singing

Photo by Nature Uninterrupted Photography on Unsplash

There’s an end to everything:
Birds in the trees, music,
Plangent and deep,
Tempests flaring in the mind of man
Foreshadowing that terrible realisation
That you too have followed this same cliff path
On nights of luminosity and in the darkness
Of the day. When mother, father, lover, friend
Have swooned towards the moon in triumph
Or despair. Or when those steps we climbed
In childhood into the loneliness of dream
Creak and creak again…

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John E Marks

John E Marks

I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can