Along the way

The storm has raged and seethed and sungAnd rent the air and left undone The knots that tie both time and tideWith niceties now cast aside-like pauper's clothes Bruised, spent and fragrant loversLinger rapt in sweet repose ©1902, ThaumatropeMind. All rights reserved.

You’ve not long

Death awaits at journey’s endA silent half-thought sentence Waylaid, suspended in mid-airFloating neither up nor down, just there With care I would attend the words wrought for that closing phraseSo many drafts, how densely filled, that final august page How tedious, how tiresome, the bleak unmetered textIn vain anticipation of some good that must come [...]