The Watchers

A bit of Americana always leaves me inspired.

I know a girl who lives above the sea,

She loves the edge,

She builds castles from the ashes of whispers,

She feeds them to the waves like gypsy skirts,

She cries when the clouds burn under glass afternoons,

Rain drops on her sea glass sun catcher eyes,

And she plays the harp with her crooked finger tips,

Her spiral spinal chord bends under wind,

Like painting muscle under skin,

She skips on sunny water with broken toes,

And watches us with our misty facets,

She sees the speeding young,

She sees the stubborn old,

She sees the innocence in little hands,

She knows the outcast and his starless flag,

She knows the poet and what the poet sees,

She watches from above the sea,

And I watch back with an artist's light.

Reviews

[KAREN]

Nice imagery and so beautiful. Nicely written!!

[Hannah E.]

This is sooo beautiful, it flows very nicely and the imagery is fantastic. I am not a poetry person but I LOVE this... (honestly, I do).
Wonderful!!