Open Poetry #46 |
one more hour |
Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Her dress was a bit torn on the side, A bit friendly on this eve of being together On this eve of watching the sun lye in bed Until the rose garden waited for another storm On the way to the fiery night of the shadowy coffin, we watched as the children gathered in the streets gathered for our soft hands to touch theirs and we walked for ages. We were like the sand of our own truth Without an object in sight We walked breathlessly towards A long stray road On the heels of something greater, Where I could see their small hands Become longer and wider I could see the legend of my heart Onto her slightly torn dress Slightly white chest With a sigh and long sleep goodbye I could see the rose garden Beyond the children of this warm night Red shirts were cast, Pink blouses were drawn Tonight, I sleep next to her, Until the wake of tomorrowÕs dawn. |
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© Copyright 2010 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
easy1 Senior Member
since 2010-05-22
Posts 1209Southeastern USA |
First off, "the sand of our own truth" is an excellent turn of phrase. This is a complex write, and I can read it as a tryst, or as a walk among reeds and woods back of the beach "alone", beyond the merriment as it were. Very interesting. |
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Ringo
since 2003-02-20
Posts 3684Saluting with misty eyes |
uh... wow Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting, "WHAT A RIDE |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Appreciate the comments...take care Tomer |
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nakdthoughts Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200Between the Lines |
"I could see the legend of my heart Onto her slightly torn dress" especially love that line M |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Thanks, Naked. Happy you enjoyed. Tomer |
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