This form of poetry is a Sestina. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For a moment, bound by a proffered thought,
I was caught in its golden fleeting hold.
An eventide breach of my consciousness,
a vaporous single wisp buried in my mind.
It is a mysterious breeze, I must confess,
the wind of time has challenge me to know.
I felt fear of learning what I might know
nature’s mysterious parlor trick produced by thought.
Do we by a slight of hand, our secrets confess?
Or, do we strive to release our tenuous hold,
allowing some dusty forgotten corner of the mind
to sweep away, that grain of consciousness?
This bright pebble picked up in consciousness,
that flowing stream passing, rushing to know.
I am stilled by this hidden sacrament of mind,
a tarot card born of a single unread thought.
What fortune of the future does it now hold?
To gain it, to read it, what must I confess?
It is not as from a void the dying confess,
it is a shining diamond of life’s consciousness.
I wonder what telling my last breath will hold.
Yet I dwell upon this passage to feel, to know,
to search the foot paths of my soul. That thought,
runs wild across the aging pastures of my mind.
From somewhere in the misty past of the mind,
the fog of time has hidden things not to confess.
As water begins to boil, heating the caldron of thought,
it pulls those diaphanous vapors into consciousness.
At last what was unknown becomes mine to know.
Something I had lost long ago, in vision I now hold.
From a dawning portico your half-light shadow I hold.
You who are a hallowed spire of a youthful day mind,
you have awakened dim memories I did not wish to know.
This is a receding tide of my heart I cannot confess,
for it lays bare the dark that fell between our consciousness.
In pain, my companion hearthstone, you rise to thought.
You are not a keepsake to hold, forgetting you I do confess,
banishing you from my mind. What was a challenge to consciousness,
I not want to know, remembering lost love is a foolish thought..
©2012, Donald Harbour