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The Magi They came out of a dream. A horn blew, Then there were silhouettes, as if Everything were waiting below the horizon. Perhaps they were beckoned by your pain; There was a scene in you to which they came. They ducked into your portal, crossed the space of the dead, And entered a shimmering light. With them went what was left of your life, riding on. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2012-09-25 15:40:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Magi as poet? What can be worked with imagery attuned to the currents of the day is no less spectacular.
However, if different, unrecognized until entered with retrospect (shimmering light) usually after (or towards the end of) one's life. But partially entered (vortex) at least with some form of acknowledgement. Perhaps no
more configured than by the poet's own emphasis (beckoned by your pain.) And we, perhaps on the cusp of it all ending, not even given this (in retrospect.) Yet we continue, "riding on" perhaps hopeful posterity has some room left. Waiting to be told we achieved something. JCH