Here, After
How to leave this place?
Where to go?
A place that is nowhere -
What can be done...
When I am in this place
Where am I?
Where have I been?
Inside?
Out.
The time will come to leave:
And when it is gone -
What is this place? With no time
This
Nowhere
Not frozen
Or thawed
But tingling
I can feel.
Thursday, 23 July 2020
This is the third poem in Les Mots sans Images, a series of original poems.
I post a new poem every waning quarter moon.
You can listen to a rendition of the poem within an audio landscape below: