dead lined across the debris

dead lined across the debris
of day's end falling between the sheets
of too much sorrow
I often find myself in a chronic bind
talking to the crescent
while dead leaves turn in the breeze
softly melting into the ground
of no more coming year

invisible strings finer than eyes
constantly meet in matter
rearranging and redefining
the content of wheels turning
in a clockwork manner
holding the sword
and driving the bus
fueling the fire of stars




Poetry by Bob
Read 742 times
Written on 2014-11-25 at 21:27

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I like it. Can I just do that like in facebook? No, I love the title again and I love every word in it. The first stanza makes me feel I get it, and I think I get it, but I just like it. Those stanzas are just plain gold, they are so good, even if I only think I get it. :-)
~Ashe
2014-11-27