WHISPERS
IN THE ECHOES
by Barbara
Phillips
Memories tumble me into leaves,
tumescent warmth touched by visions.
I become the tumbler,heady with the wealth
in the brilliance spread around my feet.
I hear the music and the words
weaving stories I can no longer remember;
yet spells slide beneath my feet
caress my head, while whispers in the echoes
lead me to mosaics yielding
into carpets too rich to bear
seduce me into sleep
where death will not mourn
or wipe away my tears
I am taunted
beaten into glory
opulent as gold leaves on
paper white limbs stretched
beneath frosted skies
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