Mr Thomas, this is for you.


I am


The sky's weathered bone
a fight for clouds
and intrepid winds to settle
with air pockets full of similes
grinning at the grave of time.

Truly tangled in warm hide
breathing softly beneath contortions.

Dare not fall in nights of wrath
dare not call bright wraiths
to dark siege of ending days
overlapping moments like this
with shapes of slow snow falling.

Truly tangled in warm hide
breathing softly beneath contortions.

My love is a blithe care's icon
a slow dissolve of all cries
that pries into the delving
a muted call that dies
before all initiation.

Truly tangled in warm hide
breathing softly beneath contortions.

Thus the story unfurls its bony tail
the symphonic play
disbands and displays dark glory
it is time to mould
that which is not crude clay.

Truly tangled in warm hide
breathing softly beneath contortions.

Daring all dark incitements
flights no caring cove can heed
feeds no flare, no fight
nor bare needs that lights
the chance we all share.

Truly tangled in warm hide
breathing softly beneath contortions.




Poetry by Bob
Read 728 times
Written on 2005-12-30 at 23:04

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