HUMANS think the house
— the only haunt
As though the wood
conjures the Spirits
of other-worlds
But the mind has rooms
which lurks some evil
a cave of skull
— the dark anteroom
sometimes possessed…
Our stupidity in all
that life contains
Barely a morsel
a nibble at best
Hungry for life we be
Escape from there
to here we run
so busy are we, finishing
So leisurely
we wish it be!
:: 01-29-2014 ::
AND in the land there be images
such an imprint of days before
a photograph of moving pictures
The thread of reality weaving
both emotion and image into one
a blueprint of what was before
We clean the slate with time
but the eye sees the state of order
and beneath the lie — therein lies
Psychic mind rest your thoughts
the gift of sight can make you blind
to the world from which you were born
:::::
MANY times more than twice have I seen
the ghosts of family, friends and then…
some whose faces that I did not know
Quaintly, with ethereal elegance they are
silky touch, feather breath, and opal eye
Outside of the tick-tock of father time
It is most inappropriate to ask of them
to state their business or intended pleasure
extend your politeness over scorn I say
//–//
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 