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Open Poetry #44

For William

Osprey
Member

since 2009-04-12

Posts 249

0 posted 2009-04-13 05:38 PM

In the valley of the forging,
Where march those men of tin,
A sculptor moulds his men of clay,
And clay their hearts within.
On beds of angels' wings they sleep
As children work the thread,
And artists paint in oils of hope
That they might raise the dead.
Yet, in the wanting of the wind
That stubborn' blows this vale,
A hope, so true, becomes the call
To hand lost boats their sail.
With needles downed, to wings full-flight,
The children take their bows,
As angels of tomorrow's word
rise up to stroke their brows.

So rest, my brother, in your peace,
Such cynic in your pride,
And know that for your loneliness,
In gentleness, I cried.

Alwye

Moderator

Member Elite

since 1999-06-16

Posts 3850
In the space between moments

1 posted 2009-04-13 06:29 PM

Very nice piece. Your last 4 lines are particularly powerful.

Welcome to Passions!

~*Krista Botterill*~

"Creating yourself is a spiritual act." ~ Susan Vreeland

Midnitesun

Member Empyrean

since 2001-05-18

Posts 28647
Gaia

2 posted 2009-04-13 07:21 PM

A soft, gentle peaceful message.
Welcome to Pips.
Thank you for 'listening' to my 'Echo' post.

unboundpoetess
Member

since 2008-05-24

Posts 477

3 posted 2009-04-13 08:30 PM

You have penned gentle beauty on blue canvas, softly grieving.

Pristine.
Heather

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

4 posted 2009-04-13 10:50 PM

Welcome to Passions!

Please, check your email
for a Very Special Greeting!

" It matters not this distance now " Excerpt, Yesterday's Love
~*~
KRJ

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