Peck

The passage of air,

through which

                --in quietude—

I move as a Peck

(sendowed with size):

                --among specks,

                true actors of flux,

                their width but noth,

                number the crux—

an order to look, in passagetude,

upon all

with fear and pride and bow’ed crush,

reprized in light forever’n.

 

Though wish it not to be

for a wish to sea…

freedom in a hand dissipate.

Reviews

[.:Naiira Harlow:.]

A very different poem. This is the first poem on writerscafe that I have seen this genre used. Very nice description and form. Well done!