Читать книгу Hope After the Fall - Ben Fitch - Страница 6
ОглавлениеLo the voice I held as mine
Like crystal cultures steeped in brine
In solitude and circumspection
Chiselled out, the soft inflections
Endogenous, the lost caress
A scarce resemblance manifest
The apparition blanched the garden
Composed of stencils, stents disheartened
The interregnum, monsoon blight
Striven ripeness chaste of light
A shadow cast, encroaching gloom
A staggered harvest blessed strewn
With loss of faith, a faith exhumed
The stillborn shrapnel, landscape-strewn
No heroism, restitution
From timidity, this absolution
