MINUTE 60

Minute - sixty - twenty - four, seven, three hundred and more
Sixty - five and one hundred . . .

Time passes into a colourless void
Shapes form endless trapezoids

And for every unit appears one more
Than the other shape once before
A certain place is in us to be
Which makes its mark in infinity
I wonder why I see or hear
But every moment it seems to be near
Ending passages of our time
And it all seems to be mine

Minute - sixty - twenty - four, seven, three hundred and more
Sixty - five and one hundred.

02/10/2005

Author's Note: peace

Posted on 02/10/2005
Copyright © 2024 Phil Walling