Born in water
Born in water of slow dark extinction,
shaped in my mother’s agony,
I care not for all that gloom
that fills all see through lapses
leading to corporal pain’s end.
I walk not in any day’s peace,
nor in the wicker basket sun
that rolls across the feathery fields,
hen shaped and slowly dying
as my eyes fold them into goodbye.
Mother of pearl is my morning,
smells of watery decay and salt
that mount the sea with pain and thistle ache,
the serpent sea that grinds the minute sand,
stray dog growling at the edge of land.
Poetry by Bob
Read 783 times
Written on 2006-06-24 at 12:24
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