»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #42
»
Untitled
| Open Poetry #42 |
|
Untitled |
|
|
Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
The snow never tried to touch her With the way faces walk and talk amongst one another, The way our eyes turn up at the sight of night Without a whispered scowl Or the thought that night writes our bodies Instead of a christened body, paging our skins And alas, we are shallows fallen grim, Reservoirs of words dipping from our lips Lunging a tape softened rift Through an idea of hopeful serenity, A hopeful truth that works Despite all the moments awkward lies, Despite the birth of social ties, We run around them, Hoping and dashing, Leaning so triumphantly That plays don’t write our dying words, Like religions that don’t purge their unneeded thoughts, We run, I run, To the warmest hill Of a mysteries dark sun. |
||
| © Copyright 2008 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
love the read. |
||
Falling rain
since 2008-01-31
Posts 2178Small town, Illinois |
good job! ~Zach~ |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
