Running towards death


Running towards death
in a garden where sweet spring
anew insists upon anticipation
I saw his shadow
stalking the children
playing on the bright grass,
I saw him smile at them
as a wild flurry cloud of birds
scattered from a bridal wreath
and the sun took refuge in the old apple tree,
flustered with age.


A life is lost amongst spring's
duelling bell struck foals,
a life that dared the blink of time
for one more heart beating spin
on the round set table of chance,
never looking at the unacceptable
nor at its cherry short history.
The old mile cat sleeps in the sun
with no worry about the score.
The nights are still cold.




Poetry by Bob
Read 558 times
Written on 2007-05-05 at 14:40

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Zoya Zaidi
God, Ben, there must be a telepathy going on between us,
I just posted a poem to simmilar effect... only not as good as yours...

((Big fond hugs)))

Love, Zoya
2007-05-05