Two afternoons


Waves upon waves
Of watery whispers
Wreck havoc
On a solar afternoon
Where voices fall and break
With see-through emotions
And wispy intent.

I am the dire mirror
That absorbs and reflects
Flying discussions
With I comment
And still I am enfolded
In the warmth of a care
No man can call his own.

The mussel merging sea
That crabs the little boy
Runs with bleeding earth
Where rain is tall
And old mountains
Never stop calling the deep
By its watery name.




Poetry by Bob
Read 537 times
Written on 2007-07-07 at 21:53

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Rob Graber
Cool text; i like especailly the last four lines, which I find heavy with strange and solemn splendor.
2007-07-07