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Mighty Oak

Contributed by derbypoet on Tuesday, 28th April 2009 @ 07:12:24 AM in AEST
Topic: oops

He's so old, old doesn't mean anything.
He just is.
And He touches inside my head,
Like something opening a window,
With a sweet, cut grass, bumble-bee, ice-bright,
Wood smoke draught.
Soft warm fingers gently
Exploring my face from the inside,
Leaving trails in the treacle He finds.
I almost hear Him sometimes,
Like I've placed a shell to my ear,
Or it may be I hear the quickening hiss
Of blood in my veins as I strain.
I almost see him sometimes
From the corner of my mind,
Like a speck of dust in my eye,
Or a ghost.
He brings me such peace.

Copyright © derbypoet ... [ 2009-04-28 07:12:24]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Mighty Oak (User Rating: 1 )
by shelby on Tuesday, 28th April 2009 @ 11:52:04 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I love this poem.

With a sweet, cut grass, bumble-bee, ice-bright,
Wood smoke draught.

WOW! that is a powerful sentence and display of words truly poetic.

Good work.

Michelle

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