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Sunrise, in a Rabbit Hole
Paperback
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ISBN10: 9363548473
ISBN13: 9789363548473
Publisher: Cyberwit.Net
Published: Nov 3 2025
Pages: 110
Weight: 0.30
Height: 0.26 Width: 5.50 Depth: 8.50
Language: English
ISBN13: 9789363548473
Publisher: Cyberwit.Net
Published: Nov 3 2025
Pages: 110
Weight: 0.30
Height: 0.26 Width: 5.50 Depth: 8.50
Language: English
And the Gates Shall Not Be Shut by Day They grow old as they wait
and the ship never passes.
- Pablo Neruda I expected something more grandiose than this rusty little gate with a broken latch. Maybe not grandiose, given the early emphasis on humility, but anyway something more befitting the occasion, more ... revelatory. But here I am in the altogether, naked as the day I was born, though quite a bit more ... developed I should guess, wondering whether to wait for someone to let me in or a great voice calling from on high or maybe just the soft bleating of a lamb, or perhaps I am supposed to continue up the narrow lane to the Big House and announce myself to the man in charge, declaring that I am ready to serve my life sentence. Not life exactly, and rather more than a sentence. More like a tome, an opus magnum, something like one of those Victorian novels with their elaborate constructions of minutia and the omniscient narrator who knows everything about everybody, where a poor guy from the sticks gets a job in a factory and, in the end, just has to accept things as they are. I decide to wait, and time passes. And passes. And passes. And, eventually, passes me by.
and the ship never passes.
- Pablo Neruda I expected something more grandiose than this rusty little gate with a broken latch. Maybe not grandiose, given the early emphasis on humility, but anyway something more befitting the occasion, more ... revelatory. But here I am in the altogether, naked as the day I was born, though quite a bit more ... developed I should guess, wondering whether to wait for someone to let me in or a great voice calling from on high or maybe just the soft bleating of a lamb, or perhaps I am supposed to continue up the narrow lane to the Big House and announce myself to the man in charge, declaring that I am ready to serve my life sentence. Not life exactly, and rather more than a sentence. More like a tome, an opus magnum, something like one of those Victorian novels with their elaborate constructions of minutia and the omniscient narrator who knows everything about everybody, where a poor guy from the sticks gets a job in a factory and, in the end, just has to accept things as they are. I decide to wait, and time passes. And passes. And passes. And, eventually, passes me by.
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