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Open Poetry #32
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Kaoru
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Member Elite
since 2003-06-07
Posts 3892
where the wild flowers grow

0 posted 2004-05-22 01:40 AM



In the forest of
hollow, sorrowful
trees and memories, there
are clay men.

The view obscured by
unnatural pavement..
yellow lines that violently clash..

At one point or another you see
what things would've been like,
had certain things not been developed..
Freely growing branches twisting
around eachother
like some sort of ancient slow dance.

Chemical steam rises to the sky
as our
inconsideration, and the blood of sacrifice..
like the tide of immorality.

These clay men dance in circles around fire,
remembering what once was
and what will never be.

© Copyright 2004 Meghan Armitage - All Rights Reserved
Dark Angel
Member Patricius
since 1999-08-04
Posts 10095

1 posted 2004-05-22 02:21 AM


As time goes on we lose more of what was.

Wonderful Meg.

Maree

The clouds never expect it when it rains, but the sea, changes colour, but the sea, does not change.
~Stevie Nicks~

Aenimal
Member Rara Avis
since 2002-11-18
Posts 7350
the ass-end of space
2 posted 2004-05-22 04:29 AM


indeed, awesome, poignant write megs
passing shadows
Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577
displaced
3 posted 2004-05-22 05:25 AM


incredible!
Obscurity
Member
since 2003-12-04
Posts 153
In A Melancholic Dream
4 posted 2004-05-22 05:27 AM


Wow, I think it's awesome, simply awesome.
wranx
Member Elite
since 2002-06-07
Posts 3689
Moved from a shack to a barn
5 posted 2004-05-22 07:37 AM


"Freely growing branches twisting
around eachother
like some sort of ancient slow dance."

Lovely, Meg!

inkedgoddess
Member Rara Avis
since 2002-11-19
Posts 7392
Ohio
6 posted 2004-05-22 08:27 AM


These clay men dance in circles around fire,
remembering what once was
and what will never be.

sad and beatuiful all at once; and as always
with value , your words

icebox
Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383
in the shadows
7 posted 2004-05-22 09:48 AM


"In the forest of
hollow, sorrowful
trees and memories, there
are clay men."

This is an example of perfect poetic craft!

Perhaps the clay men simply have not passed through the fires of awareness to become hardened so as to endure.

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