One love

Grey wings of morning
break like dying moths
in a late October recoil.

Pointing fingers of why
makes the windowsill cry.
Then I saw you.

Drool you vision of content,
wash your hands in darkness,
fold your care in waters gone.

A womb in a midnight tale,
a life that cannot fail,
a kiss on the rush of intent.

Mounds of joy, mounds of water,
soft inclinations
where the loved one plays.

Spent is the answer!
Spent is all where I am
when tedious time trickles.




Words by Bob
Read 636 times
Written on 2007-11-09 at 23:55

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lastromantichero The PoetBay support member heart!
Bob

I wont pretend to understand the images here but i applaud the rolling flow and powerful feel of this poem especially

this first stanza

Grey wings of morning
breaks like dying moths
in a late October recoil.

I get a touch of W.H.Auden here well done rgds Mike
2007-11-10