Fictive

A soft old poet calls it supreme fiction
A rebel song rising to haunted heavens
From an open book in converted palms.
What you sing will not last to the end,
But an echo of being there somewhere
Parallel to a world that is someone else’s
Fictive universe closing with your eyes.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s