In The Midnight Of Time
Freezing steel,
feel its depth,
standing upon
a shaky world
that senses less each year.
Gravediggers dig shallower,
and owls hoot more quietly,
and gazelles run slower.
The moon shines more dully,
although with still noticeable grace.
Death is used as a cover,
to excuse our lack of forgiveness,
to make things less strange,
and let flesh rest,
to mend its own seams.
To let lips rest,
from telling stories,
or casting spells.
To allow eyes,
to focus elsewhere,
to seek ancient lands
where freezing steel is unknown.
And a steadier world prevails
Fallen
All cooperative confederations tuned to collusion.
The throne’s succession,
waxed and waned power.
The power to cement a legacy,
fading out.
Nothing here now rooted in victory.
Nothing to now invigorate the spirit.
A masterful design torn.
Fading in,
only a certain resemblance
to what scars the land.
A once functioning temple shattered,
fallen like the tower of Mordor.
Complicity secreted behind the veil of the sceptre,
now held by dispensable hands.
Future Numbed
Past midnight’s second,
a flash of relentless fever,
a broken pill and promise.
A transformed life’s design,
once with a vehement bent-now ineffable,
now grown small,
monotonous.
Gold and silver heartstrings stilled.
This morning,
a blank horoscope.
Learning To Breathe Courageously
Troubles,
waking,
breathing all that’s clear
helps some.
Be careful
around falling pillars.
Let phantoms remain silent.
May your temples’ walls,
stand unbruised,
as you choose to empty
that land of ruins.
And plant burnished bronzes
among the orchids,
that bees will seduce,
and let all mirrors reflect their own truths.
We Are
Anxious, fearful, defeated,
we wish not for an overabundance of anguish,
nor an excessive stench of misery.
Some prefer the occasional mood of shadows,
desire the episodic morbid fears of a lone man,
with lips trapped by no defence
until the silent come forth.
We hold eloquent reverence for truth,
orderly, dignified, impressive,
but we are imperfect in candour.
We are perfect when we weep.
Linda Imbler's poetry and publications can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. Linda is an avid reader, classical guitar player, and a practitioner of both Yoga and Tai Chi. In, addition, she helps her husband, a Luthier, build acoustic guitars. She lives in Wichita, Kansas, U.S.A.
She enjoys her 200-gallon saltwater reef tank wherein resides her 22 year old yellow tang. Linda’s published paperback poetry collections include Big Questions, Little Sleep, Big Questions, Little Sleep: Second Edition, Lost and Found, Red Is The Sunrise, Bus Lights, Travel Sights: Nashville and Back, and Spica’s Frequency.
She has four e-books published by Soma Publishing; The Sea’s Secret Song, Pairings, which is a hybrid ebook of short fiction and poetry, That Fifth Element, and Per Quindecim. Linda has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and six Best Of The Nets.
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