He sometimes listens

by EoB   Aug 31, 2008


World is sick,
clung to by tired arms.

His dying children,
they reach for feathers they may catch
but will never quite grasp.

Through weary fingers, the melting snow,
leaves the safety of loving hands.

Rivers meander like fearful questions,
oceans of dark answers await.

Ours they are to cross.
In the cold water
alone will we always be.

Whom comes ashore,
shiver, they are so cold.
The triumph of a dying kind,,
the fantastic bittersweetness of unshared heat.

but sometimes he listens.

Shafts of sunshine through dripping leaves,
faint warmth clearing the mist,
and amid the smells of fallen rain
I see her,
and forget
The sound of my own breath.

(not sure if i like it myself yet)

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Latest Comments

  • 10 years ago

    by BlueJay

    This piece is phenomenal. I love the flow amd how unique each description and thought was. I really enjoyed the way your voice shines through each and every word.

  • 13 years ago

    by HOLLY ARMER

    Well done! Impeccable flow and astounding imagery!
    I especially liked this part:

    the fantastic bittersweetness of unshared heat.

    Truly awesome write!

  • 14 years ago

    by Sean

    Be proud of it, it's a stunning work :)

  • 16 years ago

    by Raychil

    I thought this poem was very peaceful. Just sad, but still a peacfulness fills me. The realization at the end was amazing. I thought it was beautiful.
    <3Raych

  • 16 years ago

    by Deana

    Your imagery is outstanding! I can see the sunlight through dripping leaves,Like a beautiful picture that stays forever in your mind.You are very talented!

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