My lips are parched
Still those caverns
Of inner emptiness
Blister with thirst
And are not solved
By the rain of time
By the drizzle of hope
Or by storms of pain
Now the cracked crust
And the aging rust
Can never be washed
With rose fragrance
And by the starry light
Of your eyes so bright.
Often I think
Life is toil and dust
And slowly I sink
In the quicksands
Of my own illusions
It is no comfort
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To see others bog down
Still my lips are parched
And I smoulder on
Not a Xmas candle
Making a golden circle
In the inner night
I flutter on
As a yellow leaf
In autumn sunset
Seeking a lost image
In empty hour glass
Shaken by the winds
Of four seasons
That forever carve designs
And draw fanciful lines
Like the hand of fate
On the sunlit expanse
Of the mystic desert
Fast fading into night.
Published - January 1991- ©
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