The role of Stone is that of Ice
But seeks a slower sun.
To Synapse, stealth Invisible,
Concision to the Bone.
The praying hands of branches bared
By Wind, this season’s Star,
Implore — insensate, arrogant —
As snowflakes formed in Fire.
Above our church a fist of smoke
Diminishes all Blooms
Within that Park where Prayers revolve
On a Carousel of tombs.
Wind Chill
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This really is rather good, excellent.
Please do more.
I like the hymn meter here. Reminds me of Emily Dickinson.
Those prayers weave for you a garment,
as the Carousel serves as loom round and round on this silent ground.
All aboard! All aboard! It’s your final call.
Your shroud’s well woven, your ticket’s punched.
All aboard!
Beautiful words
This fits my mood like a glove and the times as well. A verse should free you from the page and set your mind/spirit free to roam. Thank you.