Endgame Stream XI
This state of mind
Envelops my wits.
Find myself
At my wits end.
A life on hold.
Looking through
An opaque veneer.
The world indifferent
Spins on,
Puts me in a spin.
Hovering on the horizon
Stuck between night and day.
In everlasting twilight
Where nothing has definition,
Not defined.
But low upon the skyline
A slow lick of sun
Burns away the gloom,
Illuminates the path
Disipates the fog.
Life retuns.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Added by Poetry Lover
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