April 6, 2022.
She had gnarled fingers that clutched onto a weathered holy bible
I watched her rock back and forth on the decaying front porch
Had seen her walk to the Baptist church every week, a devoted disciple
I thought to myself, "What an awful symphony,
between the wind chimes and the chair just about screaming"
She says, "If you think I'm ancient, wait till you learn about these mountains-
Older than bones, older than oceans, and under time they keep eroding -
but aren't they beautiful?"
Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 379 times
Written on 2022-04-18 at 20:03
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appalachia
Her salt and pepper colored hair was wispy - paper thinShe had gnarled fingers that clutched onto a weathered holy bible
I watched her rock back and forth on the decaying front porch
Had seen her walk to the Baptist church every week, a devoted disciple
I thought to myself, "What an awful symphony,
between the wind chimes and the chair just about screaming"
She says, "If you think I'm ancient, wait till you learn about these mountains-
Older than bones, older than oceans, and under time they keep eroding -
but aren't they beautiful?"
Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 379 times
Written on 2022-04-18 at 20:03
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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