Open Poetry #46 |
running for the hills |
Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
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. |
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© Copyright 2010 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
martiniat8 Senior Member
since 2003-06-21
Posts 897Prague, Bohemia, Czech Republic |
mmmmmm, an amazing write! |
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Bastet Member
since 2010-05-07
Posts 246 |
Beautiful, haunting. I love the rhythmic language. Really well done. |
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Eusta B. Mae Senior Member
since 2010-05-03
Posts 903 |
I like your style. ebm |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Thanks to all...it means a lot Cheers |
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