We were talking
into the night
of the sea
and our beginning there
of Venus rising-
flare white?
and of antiquity,
that common ground we share,
but under glaring
inquisitorial light;
no clarity
to expunge her sea-foamed hair.
Our dumb offering
of the trite,
a desultory
respect, our lack of care.
No longer believing
in any rite
nor the vanity
of reciprocated prayer.
Left grieving
our plight,
its continuity-
the dull fact of being here.
Venus Rising
Roland John
(1)
Poem topics: hair, light, night, respect, white, vanity, share, common, prayer, sea, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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