Mustered Wake

In my palms
from the side road
moss twig and trickle

Moving to keep warm
the cold that slips, same
hand turns sands in summer
 
Spring of youth they call you spring,
take me to the fifth element,
See, my eyes are closed
pain accumulating
I can't hold on
no, open again finally
 
The around me is watching me
the beauty silent fresh
but the night before,  
might have been all in vein.

 Thourn Whaul
060708

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Tags: poetry, poem, lyric, anartism, meter, free form
Comments: 0 Views: 115 [History of changes] Size:446 byte
Last changes are made by: thango Thourn Whaul 1117 days ago

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