Yellow Pages

Your poem speaks of

A tormented soul,

Wrapped in the cobwebs

Of memories

From a distant time

I hear the echoes

Of the grand piano

Playing an aria

And a child’s voice

Rippling

With sunlight

Amidst a waterfall

Spraying a rainbow

Of darkness

And a nothingness

Sweeping

All hope aside… 

Long dead like Ophelia

And now

In the whirlpool

A palm seeks

Rescue, clutching thin air

Begging

Save me,

Just once,

This time…

And everyone stands

Frozen

At the end

The end of Time!

Your poem has

A tryst with Time…

And the yellow pages

Flaking…

With the chime!

kbdgr8est

30 June 2008