....witches

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    ....witches

    the spirit of night
    parley under banana trees
    dancing alone in dusk wonderment
    where,i have seen no bodies
    dance at live rendezvous,
    what calmness terraces the city of calm
    what oldness boldens a child,
    what fetters of unfettered ankle
    betroths revelry of flesh and blood
    seated in unsmirched closed lips,
    what whips of whips hung
    inflicts unpurposed ills
    and stroke a mildewed fist
    caught in the eclipse;
    of will-pharos,
    remolts destiny.

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    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    kelads’s Poems (3)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    the interment 0
    life 0
    ....witches 0