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Open Poetry #48
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Tomer
Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168
Michigan

0 posted 2013-05-07 07:53 PM



She held her hand
until her hands
became a small part of her dresses white fabric

It was winters brittle message
the carnage that fell from the sky
like the fall of the angels
that used to rise from the ground
and take their hearts onto the wooden laden floor

Those small hands with her eyes
like a ravens soft stare
in the middle of the trees palm

The palm tree
the man who stared
and never gave an inch
to the perished fields of the western sky

Her little hands could foil
the grounds soiled hand
but now she's losing her fallen side
and her stomach is losing its empty hand

She used to hold the bottom of her feet
with the silent ride of a million sighs
The way a woman used to hold her hair
under the bright side of a little prairies backside

It was here that her mother began to see
the end of the roads end
but for that little girl
her fate forged its way
towards another open road.


© Copyright 2013 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved
BluesSerenade
Member Patricius
since 2001-10-23
Posts 10549
By the Seaside
1 posted 2013-05-07 08:36 PM


Always so many thoughts to ponder and so much to breathe in!

So good to read you Mr Tomer.

Lighthousebob
Member Elite
since 2000-06-14
Posts 4725
California
2 posted 2013-05-07 10:32 PM


Though still filled with terrifying metaphor, i.e. "the carnage that fell from the sky," my interpretations being "tornadoes" of the South and/or Midwest or angels being cast out of heaven, but, still, this poem seemed quite the contrast from the last for it held, ahead, in the future, "another open road."  Enjoyed!  
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