Decided to wind back the words and restart the movies I once made and was, thus honing and sharpening them.
corrupting matter and me
as I pass through winter woods
in fear of dark ends,
wincing when wind dies.
Just a shell of bone and skin,
– this I call my home in vain,
a decay in dread of wind
that floats from railroads –
with eyes that wait for snow.
A searing stare at the tree,
a meeting meets the eye
with unwritten tales,
ties and fleeting turns,
a searching for small footprints
in soft snow.
Poetry by Bob
Read 516 times
Written on 2011-05-27 at 19:40
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Time is
Time is a reckless mistresscorrupting matter and me
as I pass through winter woods
in fear of dark ends,
wincing when wind dies.
Just a shell of bone and skin,
– this I call my home in vain,
a decay in dread of wind
that floats from railroads –
with eyes that wait for snow.
A searing stare at the tree,
a meeting meets the eye
with unwritten tales,
ties and fleeting turns,
a searching for small footprints
in soft snow.
Poetry by Bob
Read 516 times
Written on 2011-05-27 at 19:40
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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