Held Suspended

When they pried open his eyelids

you could see the great abyss.

Not to confuse silence with discontent

or tall shadows for what truly exists.

The night will grow old

and the stars will break

from their cloud’s smoky hold

while the piazza beneath

grows ever more lonely and cold

to the lodger with no where to go but to wander.

It is cold enough to see all that is dislodged

like the smoke from chimneys drift up

to the stars, even more pronounced

in the bright cloister garden’s climb to moonlight.

Drifting past campanile towers of silent bells

wearing stone to break the footsteps

of whispers waking shadows

of crosses and cloister pillars.

The old well was a source of inspiration,

the deliberate drips

like paths crossing on trips

to the center of the city.

All the shades and silhouettes distract

with shadowplay to attract the attention

of those who pass by underneath.

Paper panels slide

like shifting channels late at night,

these luminescent snenes

appearing in darkened buildings

with the flick of a solitary light

the imagination

is held suspended

like a dangling figurine

tied to the end of a lucid dream.

Feet will never grace the inside,

the mind will never touch the ground,

until all the fabric was unwound

and falls silently as snow will

to the bare feet of the screen

where all the rest was briefly tantalizing.

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7 thoughts on “Held Suspended

  1. And this coming from the land of sunshine and hibiscus flowers. 😉
    My introspective comment of the day.
    Seriously, now, I got a whiff of candle wax there for a minute time travelling. Great work.

  2. Lozzi says:

    A poet I can read and enjoy….good stuff

  3. sue says:

    A master poet – sending me to distant worlds -mysterious and illusive – love it . thanks for sharing – sue

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