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Open Poetry #41
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Grinch
Member Elite
since 2005-12-31
Posts 2929
Whoville

0 posted 2007-10-24 03:18 PM


This fools lyred lips slide words of lead
from evenings death to mornings dread,
to scatter pennies in this well of gold.

Soft whispered prayers among the proud
fast falling cast amid this crowd,
where wishful dreams die, drop or hang untold.

An errand sad and mad indeed
producing thoughts for none to read,
to watch a star you may have glimpsed grow cold.

A lunatic poetic trend
when shall this fevered nightmare end,
or am I clutching straws I cannot hold?


© Copyright 2007 Grinch - All Rights Reserved
Artic Wind
Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 8080
Realm of Supernatural
1 posted 2007-10-24 04:15 PM


powerful words

ARCTIC WIND

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