i am alone
On the bellies of the frogmen,
Could not bear to watch the lead sinkers sink them down,
I sold him the blueprints to the mausoleum,
The plot to the grounds, saying
"Use them well."
He gave me gold in burlap (three bars) and parted
Into the darkened mouth of that mausoleum.
I never really knew him.
Because I grew tremendously happy with sunsets,
Found myself soft for such,
I floated my gold downstream-
Oh, yes, and it floats-
Because I became indifferent to frost
It would visit and woo me with food and song,
Tired old friend it's become.
As I could not stand tiptoe any longer
Watching the horse races over the tall fence,
I decided against throwing away that green scarf
I bought sometime last year.
I string together, now, something very frightening,
And i keep it in my pocket. I will surprise the forest,
I'll surprise the very earth, come October.
When October comes round again.
Into that exacting dark, where, where, where has he gone?
Poetry by halfjack
Read 1155 times
Written on 2008-09-03 at 03:26
Tags Love Death Hate
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
indecisive, in descent
Because I could not stand for fires burningOn the bellies of the frogmen,
Could not bear to watch the lead sinkers sink them down,
I sold him the blueprints to the mausoleum,
The plot to the grounds, saying
"Use them well."
He gave me gold in burlap (three bars) and parted
Into the darkened mouth of that mausoleum.
I never really knew him.
Because I grew tremendously happy with sunsets,
Found myself soft for such,
I floated my gold downstream-
Oh, yes, and it floats-
Because I became indifferent to frost
It would visit and woo me with food and song,
Tired old friend it's become.
As I could not stand tiptoe any longer
Watching the horse races over the tall fence,
I decided against throwing away that green scarf
I bought sometime last year.
I string together, now, something very frightening,
And i keep it in my pocket. I will surprise the forest,
I'll surprise the very earth, come October.
When October comes round again.
Into that exacting dark, where, where, where has he gone?
Poetry by halfjack
Read 1155 times
Written on 2008-09-03 at 03:26
Tags Love Death Hate
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
