Catastrophic Wail

Oh where?
Does anything exist at all?
What is that wall,
between soul and
the sun? It's dark,
yet urges the reading
of the stones and
moss lying there,
statues of stone,
that magnetize the eyes.

Hold on,
or cast aspersions
on the wind? Where
does the soul go - where?
Where does it belong,
when there are
several roads to Roam?

Old as the rocks
that hem the garment
to the ground, wet
with seeping waters,
tears of years,
a pain in the heart,
O listen, hear, soul.

A companion on the road
(and there is always one)
says nothing goes on forever,
and is right,
as will be seen when this
moment of hell passes,
and is thoroughly
known.

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.