What is happening?

Seeping through all that
weeping autumn fortifies
in gales and gusts
and weird tools of mystery
I hear bells of sunken ships
calling in mighty mists
that may be called memory
if there was a book of codes.

Offensive thrusts of pain
spears the infants holy hope
of ever joining joy's
magical master switch
of true ascendance
into a blue for ever.

Speak you blue blooded tongue
of free versed all that matters;
speak of all things unsaid,
unheard of amongst beasts,
hovering in halls as yet
unmeasured by eyes.

Leaves of determination
folds as they should
whereas the soaked soil
knows no other direction
than the downward
that finally spells
your very fading name.

Thus I know
that in between
what goes on
and what really happens
there are eyes
that cries for no more.




Poetry by Bob
Read 991 times
Written on 2005-11-07 at 00:16

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Zoya Zaidi
"Seeping through all that
weeping autumn fortifies
in gales and gusts
and weird tools of mystery
I hear bells of sunken ships
calling in mighty mists
that may be called memory
if there was a book of codes."

...These words capture you right away
and make you, cease the text
by the horns & not leave it
Till you have gone though the last
BUT NOT THE LEAST!

BRAVO! John!

Another poet has enriched the poetbay!

(((hugs)))

xxx Zoya
2005-11-13


vicky vixen
Dark and powerful. You are the master.
2005-11-07