CemeteryA Poem by Breese Crawleycemetery is just a metaphor.Cemetery
I would lie in my backyard In the uncut grass Facing the starless sky Like me, wild, lost and Disappointing.
Moist soil bled into My mind, my mind bled Into the moist soil; Wet mid-summer night soaked My eyes, my eyes soaked The mid-summer night.
Then it dripped, it rained, it poured Liquid hails stroke me awake and dead Silver thread wrapped around my neck Stealing my silent cry The air shattered above me and Froze me with cold fire.
Froze me. Froze me for Three seasons Until my hair vined around the ancient tree My arms rooted into the nether My eyes fountained a pond and My lashes bloomed a lotus Until I became the soil And became the sky
© 2014 Breese Crawley |
StatsAuthorBreese CrawleyWAAboutBreese is not my real name. English is not my real language. Where I live is not my real home. what else isn't real? Is the world real? AM I REAL? -------------------------------------------- I.. more..Writing
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