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Open Poetry #46
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Autumn cranberries and her skin
| Open Poetry #46 |
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Autumn cranberries and her skin |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
She waited for the light to turn green as a blind man does when he waits for the hand to guide him across the street It was the Sunday before winter Her small leather jacket cupped pockets of the wind where leaves of autumn left small notes for the trees to never forget them. She walked alongside the white horses playing with her hands the way the softest souls of her ancestors rinsed theirs of the dirt between their nails She walked into the river like a child that forgtten their clothes, forotten their conscious She was a sweet child, sweet ole child. |
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| © Copyright 2010 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
Cpat Hair
since 2001-06-05
Posts 11793 |
It was the Sunday before winter Her small leather jacket cupped pockets of the wind where leaves of autumn left small notes for the trees to never forget them. like these lines... the thought of leaves being notes to trees is something I find appealing. |
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Eusta B. Mae Senior Member
since 2010-05-03
Posts 903 |
Ditto what Cpat said, I agree 100%. ebm |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Such a melancholy write, Tomer... tender mercies, here... |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Thanks all...the trees are surely beautiful this time of year. Cheers Tomer |
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