I have known hours of such varying intensity this week ... lovely hours, wrenching hours, calm hours, hours of laughter, anxious hours. Hazel Hall knows.
Hours
Hazel Hall
I have known hours built like cities,
House on grey house, with streets between
That lead to straggling roads and trail off,
Forgotten in a field of green;
Hours made like mountains lifting
White crests out of the fog and rain,
And woven of forbidden music—
Hours eternal in their pain.
Life is a tapestry of hours
Forever mellowing in tone,
Where all things blend, even the longing
For hours I have never known.
(Found here, on Poets.org.)
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Jone Rush MacCulloch has the roundup today.
9 comments:
beautiful. thank you for sharing!
Timely.
Beautiful for now, Karen. Thank you!
Thanks for the intro to a new-to-me poet. Such truth.
This is a beautiful one.
"Hours like mountains lifting" is my favorite. Seems like a good writing exercise. What else are hours like?
Fingers crossed that next week is less wrenching!
Lovely images--I've often wondered how an hour can seem so different at different times.
Life is a tapestry of hours is perfect.
Seems as if Hall's time was sparse also… I like her ending lines,
"Where all things blend, even the longing
For hours I have never known."
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