we who sit at the feet of angels
and drink alone, the bitter truth...
with no hand to hold against the night,
no kindred spirit, no flame of hunger.
we speak, there is no answer,
only the waiting that sweats & weeps.
the formless bound in a thousand faces
each yearning to be held, and named.
we who sit at the feet of angels...
and drink alone...
Eric Cockrell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Mourning by Eric Cockrell )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(22 March 1941 -)
(18 November 1939)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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