The Horn Dorsal GrayA Poem by PerditionHolding back abiding my intentions to abide a lover lies beside with words like a cool taste of
sand you complement my infectious nature with empty landscape chewing up the old pathway to furniture every "now" is only a scratch on some last goodbye a scar on our jiggered chin dragging into the old
century trying to remember the last remorseful ode even the rose stands in a shattered glass confused even the earth with its broken plea wants its destined
wobble an anthill-war we never intended we never can concede these miseries digging in deeper than our own confusion or state the beetle thoughts drowning in their thimble of spit what we believe comes back to haunt our resurrection but none of it such as gray none of it such as your dead father’s eyes will ever reach
these shores we fade and drift into posterior butterflies so long as hell from heaven knocks so long as the mind dresses up with the morning lamp and makes holy a mad man of the front door the neighbors caught in the sparks from the words left
out last night so long as the floor swings open and oddity is still inside
your mind there are waters more promising a fresh ballet and nuance every wave slowing its path to touch each molecule here and there is still a good uncertainty so long as the paper man lives so long as the old Zenith dies anchored from the attic and the day rolls up to your feet so long as we feel it sincerely lapping with good earth then there is still a chance and who but the butcher knows our sadness each step answering to another charm © 2018 PerditionReviews
|
Stats
371 Views
5 Reviews Added on December 22, 2018 Last Updated on December 23, 2018 Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|