The Secret

The Boy lifts his head;

Yonder, whisper the rustling blades

Of golden grass; yonder –

The Secret; he climbs the crest of the hill…


There – towering before him, the work

Of days gone by, a True beauty,

Wrought by forces unimaginable

Frozen in Time, the Only of its kind.


A step behind him; the Boy turns –

A voice in his ear, laughter;

A wash of memories breaking through,

Pulling at that ghostly veil…


I open my eyes, blinking – all is black.

Yet a flicker of a smile finds my face;

And Time, relentless, marches on…


~ Jordan Strobach-Morris, 10.03.2015

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