The Gift

 

THE GIFT

 

Today is all my bygone days

this evening is the dawn

                     of my eternity,

of loving faces, smiling eyes

of touching fingers

sliding carefree

                      down the mossy slopes

of always never.

 

Only then, will I see you smile,

only now, do I feel your tears

gliding down

                    the deities

and landing on their feet

of clay.

 

Today is mis-spent hours

wasting into

                  the gilt and glory

that was youth –

no symbols,

                  only words,

softly spoken by the pollen

freely given to the bee.

 

And I receive them

gratefully –

feeling the touch of your fingers

through my shroud

of fear.

 

 

 

                          Malcolm Evison

                           1969

*********************************

another poem, LISTENING TO STOCKHAUSEN … , has been posted on ‘Mal’s Factory’

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