What Worlds, Unseen

What worlds, Unseen,

did we weave, between

glimmering Seas and the

roaming beasts?

What Tapestry have we woven,

Lock stitched, greenish gold,

shimmering tales of old

heroes, bold?

What wars have we waged,

blood-slippery, but staged,

the patrons left, enraged?

The unsaid cannot entertain.

What words did we leave,

stacked sheaves, littering

the hidden drawers beneath

the old desk, incomplete?


© CGT, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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