A meeting

I don't seem to care anymore,
I just don't give a damn
whether what I say
makes a difference or not.
Perhaps the collected say
has grown too much beyond
that marrow meeting
beyond the importance
of all disparate self.
Perhaps a tree is just a tree,
not a spirit bending
to the winds perturbation.
Wrapped in a street longing
of sea winds and salt
I desperately tow my self
into the bay of the braves.
Their songs are mixed
with a gloating at the sea,
no remorse for the relentless
and the way the response
breaks like a dull knife.
The temple of the highest
eludes me in the theater,
in the rain of night
and too much presence.
Netherwords of compliance
and putting extravaganza
on poor mans table
surges like friendly winds
through the expanding theater.
Who am I today?
The yester I have already
walked far beyond today.





Poetry by Bob
Read 544 times
Written on 2006-11-22 at 23:14

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Saga
This art, this is truly art, great one Bob!!!
2006-11-23


Sage
Awesome writing here. Well worth the stop. The last two lines simply inspiring.
2006-11-23