it is in the splendor of the day's dying
it is in the splendor of the day's dyingphantom water rolls over summer lost
a page with heron hieroglyphics
turns still before dark deluge
old man walking sets a hand on fire
with debris and lunar madness
he washes his eyes with murky rain
tumbles with his own emptiness
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2014-07-02 at 19:53
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 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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