Sunday, August 21, 2011

scatter


wind torn,
and unkempt,

slip your cast,
of hardened resignation,

dive into the form,

this rigidity,
this anomaly,
this flow,



hold tight,
for the approaching storm,
tides of unknown pain,
squalls of poisonous rain,

scatter the binding dread,
and drink silver rivers,
pulled by the exploding sun,

you should know by now,
there is no tomorrow.
















3 comments:

Peterborough Carl said...

If this whole researcher gig doesn't work out, Hallmark Cards could possibly be your calling.

Old Ollie said...

to be scattered is our destiny, for now we eat drink live

Pat Cegan said...

Well, I need to sit with this one as I do not understand it. Is this rude to admit? :-) The fault lies on the reader as I am new to poetry, but learning every day. I will be back. Hugs, pat