I am the first soil


I am the first soil,
the breeding ground
of souls that toll in windows.

Wines and vessels flow red on walls
where strict sirens interfere
with street walking
and thugs feast on visibility.

Money made bombs
that char the children
makes for a fine living
and a pointed finger of power.

The giant that rolls
down the captured hills
breaks windy villages with cheers
and worlds of free bankers talking
of the needs of fat children.




Poetry by Bob
Read 1443 times
Written on 2006-08-12 at 13:01

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Bob
Yes, toll was meant in the sense of tolling like bells in a church.
2006-08-12


Rob Graber
Oops! That comment was meant for Bob only. I trust it will not cramp the style of poets inclined to be carefree about some of the details!
2006-08-12


Rob Graber
Greetings! I enjoy your work. You seem--like so few on poetbay--quite meticulous, so I hesitate to ask, but is "toll" correct in the third line?
2006-08-12


Rob Graber
I find this simultaneously fun and grim. The imagery is definitely infectious!
2006-08-12