driven by I here days

driven by I here days
with a taste of fake eternity
itching on my skin
I fold measures into time

I the sun is a dragon mother
smoldering with immanence
it's all for the short of it
and the let go

vernal promises hurt
she whispered from treetops
withdrawn in late winter snow
loaded with eager latency

slow conception of marked day
enters a next coming
with the gentle sagacity of dying
burning seeing into ash

(my poem my drawing)




Poetry by Bob
Read 646 times
Written on 2016-02-24 at 11:34

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