GATES

August 25th, 2008 by Jamey | Posted in Poetry |

Sometimes there can be truth
As true as the sound of an anchor
Hitting mud

From the shore only silence
Only a straining vessel
And the lapping water

It is true that all hearts grow cold
Whether during life or after
All hearts grow cold

Some speak of time
How as the benefactor it heals
Or that time is the destroyer

But there is neither choice nor dissonance
An open window is still closed
To the enormity of the midnight air

How alike to a low-standing fence
Bolted or rusted shut yet exposed
To the absurdity of it all