I ascend the serpentine path to the mountain
the windy summit of the grand ridge glistens.
I scale magic steps to the clouds, tinted eosin,
a gold sun walks in the blue sky and listens.
And when the night descends, I climb the flighty stairs
to the lonely moon staring at the orphan earth,
then ascend to the twinkling stars dancing in pairs,
wondering if they know the meaning of mirth.
Dense dreams detour, thick thoughts ticktack in a row.
Life is evermore poetry, though many keep them apart.
But tell me now my dear, oh, please, tell me now,
Where are the magic stairs leading to your heart?
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Comments about this poem (Magic Stairs by Paul Hartal )
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