And yet

Driven by the token toll
bellowing chimney sweeps allow
I forge all insanity into the one word
cold nights insist upon.

Unpromised by tomorrow
seven ragged scarecrows beckons
seven mortally wounded winds
fall short of again.

Where once milky skin
embraced all bare dreams and more
a scarred breath flows anxiously
like a fleeing gull to the sea.

I have but bruised remains
and eyes that see the turning of leaves
into earths black and withered bowl
with tender longing's fall.

So sleep all dreams
that no longer haunt my covert days
sleep and let there be no more hope
beyond the sullen earth.




Poetry by Bob
Read 802 times
Written on 2005-11-08 at 01:25

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John Ashleigh The PoetBay support member heart!
Two phrases:

I know a good poet when I look at one -
I know a good poem when I can feel it.

;) - and yet, I can feel it!

Great write, keep up all your efforts and continue seeping your heart to us - thanks for sharing Bob.
2005-11-14


Zoya Zaidi
Again very beautiful & deep,
Memories, sorrow& remorse,
Past scars that refuse to heal
Bruised childhood dreams
Charred chimneys & sweeps
So much & yet...
Hope should never be gleaned!

Bravo! bob!
2005-11-13