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The Twelfth Of Never
By Richard Thomas Cummings
21st CenturyThe bashful man,
With his words unspoken,
Darts his eyes
Towards the leisures of life.
He sees walls filled with skies
And muralistic faces, broken;
Within a world's endless span---
To a ship's sailing grief.
Rage against the relentless Tempest
Of pulsating time, and beating life;
Upon the winds as if a leaf,
Falling too far from the crumpled nest.
Withdrawing life, his Heart's sacrifice---
Becoming the pain's relief
Amid the never coming of tomorrow,
Where he will speak his mind's confess.
They were old and gray, his eyes:
Deep with insight and sorrow;
As the vines of his soul would grow,
Outreaching his untold story.
Atop the silent peak
Of jagged, angelic snow;
The aged man only seeks
An embracing cold, to warm his death.
DayPoems Poem No. 2763
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