my private world
and i went into a private placeand prayed in some ancient language
from the far east;
closet temple
whenever i finally hear the birds sing again,
it's like i am waking up
from myself,
my private world
(and sometimes, tears fall from the faces of statues)
distorted and contorted:
human emotion is shaped
upon a potter's wheel
and the moon is my lover, i love her
4/14/14
Poetry by Thomas Perdue
Read 823 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2014-04-18 at 20:16
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night soul woman |
Editorial Team |
Edgar J. Jackson |