Close your eyes,
Because all the world's a stage,
Of strange lights and brutal colours,
And there's a cold sunset,
Like an echo,
Seen not heard,
Relentless procession.
Imagine comfort in twilight,
Through the branches of an autumn tree.
Another day gives up its ghosts.
Music in a strange language,
A different sort of echo.
Sense memory, beautiful actors,
And me and you;
Solitary but not lonely,
No need to impose,
Spare the friends,
Let strangers pass by.
Jealous of nothing,
Except wasting words.
You write in your mind's eye:
Precious moments of feeling.
Fleeting, they evaporate,
Like youth and innocence.
What's left, what matters?
The world in prose,
However long that lasts...
©eccevox
E