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24th March 2004
Contributed by
louby
on
Wednesday, 19th May 2004 @ 03:29:56 PM in AEST
Topic:
NaturePoetry
|
I paint a picture with my words,
Not beautiful or even clear;
But a scene, a single image stands,
I ponder and the ink drips silently onto page.
A lake, a tree, a far off sunset,
Too romantic, too unreal.
A cluster of nettles perhaps,
Or a mud-stained park;
Few birds or even worms, little presence of living.
A bench - scratched and worn,
A memory - toppled from its cold stone pinth;
A puddle - no stream - murky and shallow.
No reflection there.
No image of the other side of myself, to gaze upon.
A sharp breath,
Fog and dark clouds are shadows of death.
A whisper of life - myself.
The air is a shapeless weight,
There is no clear reflection here.
Copyright ©
louby
... [
2004-05-19 15:29:56]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: 24th March 2004
(User Rating: 1 )
by Living_In_My_Dream on
Wednesday, 19th May 2004 @ 03:38:35 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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| that is a great write...full of truth...awesome write...keep it up keep it coming...!!! |
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Re: 24th March 2004
(User Rating: 1 )
by Overstated on
Thursday, 20th May 2004 @ 03:25:09 PM AEST
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| wow very good write as the last poster said - keep it up!!! :) |
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Re: 24th March 2004
(User Rating: 1 )
by Cole on
Saturday, 19th June 2004 @ 08:49:46 PM AEST
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a Message)
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I love how fluid this poem is. Beautiful!
-Cole- |
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