“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, August 16, 2015
i contact
i want to be alone with you,
she said
her lips were puckered
but she made no sound.
It has been
so long
since you're looked me in the eyes
and meant it.
You've changed
is it Time
What has come
between us,
she said touching the icy mirror.
Image of portrait (color plate) By George Eastman House from Rochester, NY, United States [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Right or Left
What can be said about War and Peace that has not been proposed outside of either wedlock- Or must we choose sides, such as above or below...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Sun lifting the veil of purple sky- might bronze forge strength pungent as the turned dirt? Thirsting through exposition, hi...

No comments:
Post a Comment