Fractured images of faces,

That small moment of loss,

Ineffable but lightly known,

From the corner of the eye,

Learning to fly by wire,

In dreams its much easier,

A movement in a minor chord,

Soaring like a buzzard,

Yet still the plaintive cry,

Even as the heights are gained.

The French claim the petit mort,

But then what do they know,

Romance through gauloise,

And a diffident pose…

Is much too easy to deny,

When your own vogue shape,

Is more important than hers.

And I looked and beheld,

a pale horse called death.

This is more to the point.

Because it is a pale horse,

it washes away the colours,

And in death you follow the light.

It is a white out…

An ache in infinity,

The ineffable moment,

Is beyond soul time or space,

Hold that thought gently,

No matter how hard to reach,

For there is divinity,

the holiest of ghosts.

Dale M 2021

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I am a writer of words and a righter of wrongs. I aim to change the world, one person at a time.

One thought on “SHALLOW THEN HALO

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