Thus the lion


Laughter declining in water traps,
made by lesser men in dire need
on their way to senseless oblivion,
has a way to resurge in waves
where rhythm is an invitation
and focus of outmost importance.

Breath in the air, you capricious one,
you might find a reference,
a wind all wounded seek to hoard,
a wind breaking like a chord.
It is a time of hallowed laughter,
of melting snow in tiled halls
of significant importance to all.

Thus the lion.




Poetry by Bob
Read 508 times
Written on 2011-01-20 at 00:06

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