In that realm unnamed, soar they high,
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee pass by.
No elegy shall mourn their flight,
For they defy the grasp of night.
In that realm unseen, some things abide,
Grief, hills, eternity reside.
Yet their presence doesn’t concern my plight,
Their weighty existence veiled from sight.
And there exist those who rest and ascend,
Can I unravel skies that transcend?
The answer eludes, a puzzle complete,
In silence, the riddle lies, discreet.
:: 06.202.2023 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 