BY LAWRENCE “MACK” HALL
Pale, wintery-grey and cold, diffuse and pale
Light falls upon the pages of a book
Its words unread – the snow may come this hour
Between a noun and verb, a glance, a look
Pale, wintery-grey and cold, diffuse and pale
The figures of our story now pause for us
Impatient for their journey to proceed
But through the window waits another tale
Pale, wintery-grey and cold, diffuse and pale
Light falls upon the pages of our lives
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BY LAWRENCE “MACK” HALL “…but lay thy sword asideAnd lean upon a peasant’s staff”– Wordsworth We have it on the...
BY LAWRENCE “MACK” HALL
Where Peter was, there also was the Tomb — blood-sodden dreams cold-rotting in old sin, the Chalice left unwashed.
BY LAWRENCE HALL A friend mentioned that he had graduated from Phillis Wheatley High School in Houston, which prompted me to re-read some...
BY LAWRENCE HALL Everybody writes about the moon Often trying to force a balky rhyme Along the continuum of spoon and croon Which...
