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Open Poetry #46
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Tomer
Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168
Michigan

0 posted 2010-09-21 07:39 PM



Each time it was the past of the fall
Each time she fell, she never crossed
And the hounds could be heard from the streets of the land

From afar, from your nose,
From the depths the pubs that
Sat on the outskirts of Rosemary hall.

As the stint of the night caromed
Around the ponds
Like a long, slow breathe,
It was here the fish wondered,
Could the refuge of the night  
Bring back the sanctity of what was left?

Will the streets keep calling?
Will they foster my name
From the gravel up to the stoplights?

Where the wind runs
Through the rows of grass
Through the sleepy hollow
I sit like a young lad
Writing until the ink runs dry,
Until the well of the village said goodbye.


© Copyright 2010 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved
martiniat8
Senior Member
since 2003-06-21
Posts 897
Prague, Bohemia, Czech Republic
1 posted 2010-09-21 08:22 PM


mmmmmm, an amazing write!
Bastet
Member
since 2010-05-07
Posts 246

2 posted 2010-09-22 12:39 PM


Beautiful, haunting. I love the rhythmic language. Really well done.
Eusta B. Mae
Senior Member
since 2010-05-03
Posts 903

3 posted 2010-09-22 08:58 AM


I like your style. ebm
Tomer
Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168
Michigan
4 posted 2010-09-22 08:56 PM


Thanks to all...it means a lot

Cheers

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