Slipping from View

perhaps it’s best we stop here, parting ways at the crossroads we stood too long beside. we know the adage: how gold never stays. surely, far greater loves than ours have died. we bear the gaunt trappings of yesteryear, ghostly figures shambling in plushy flesh, driven on by stark loneliness and fear. pitiful beings: the…

The Flow of Time

This poem was an experiment. I took Robert Frost’s Acquainted with the Night, retaining his end rhymes and sonnet form, then played with it a bit. I wanted to work with the spacing between words and building smaller poems into the whole. The two lines act as links between phrases (my attempt to show that…