Sometimes you can find a piece of gold in the deepest graves.
Sometimes you fall in. Sometimes you climb in.
Medallion
i saw her six feet underthere she was,
looked up at me
and smiled,
she smiled
down by the river
where our wine was made,
in the line
crossed a feline
across the road,
and the cars
drove
and she stood,
before she corssed
the road
and, on the other side,
were others waiting
like her kind.
i saw her six feet under
there she was,
looked up at me
and smiled,
she smiled
and i cried,
she said "your tears,
they plunder my whiskers.
now i have my abode
cease your mourning whispers."
and all she was
was a feline,
and i
was the car that
killed her
in the road.
Poetry by Aven Black
Read 808 times
Written on 2010-04-19 at 22:21
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