unsteady by any account

unsteady by any account
hands and charts wavering slow
by the blow by the minute
by the coming of dark snow

cremated by the marching night
beaten by dormant anger death
strides are white just to make sure
one will not stay for ever

rampant ice on fire parades
one hand on the socket
the other on the final switch
no lullaby in my pocket

Green Peter walks in dreams
with eyes for joy exhaled
she sleeps like the horizon
with a wreath of roses



Poetry by Bob
Read 621 times
Written on 2017-02-21 at 21:50

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Extinction perhaps? Imagery to get lost in. I like it.
Ashe*
2017-02-22