Approaching the end of the multiplying
Line of somber burnt-out candles lengthening
Behind him, he recalls their first light before
Turning ahead to the diminishing
Row of lively little lit ones waiting,
All the while quivering himself
And tries—how hard it must be
To keep looking firmly ahead—to snuff out
That still-flickering thought, the one
That will certainly engulf him
Should he wilt and turn back.
can't hardly wait to get to the end
ReplyDeleteof the poem or painting that I am
now
working on
as every single ending IS the beginning of
the next piece/poem.
through Mind thinking
comes and goes
(as you have "it" in this piece)...
Ed,
ReplyDeleteIn such musing matters, I suppose we’ll always be inveterate amateurs, so "Round and round she goes, where she stops, nobody knows!"