In my head


Lost in menacing apparitions
of night of all nights,
in silly whispers that leer and cheer
to the tune of bones and ashes,
I bury my intentions between
the spoken and the incomplete.

Please, just one more minute.
The black cherry tree child
long gone through years
of carving out the course
of the one original seed
is still there amid the branches.

Fragments of yesterday's parade
flicker at the end of the day,
jaded and seemingly irretrievable,
making up present fabric
of all embracing
and one more breath.

A boy on a bicycle
drawn to the nettles in the fifties
still echoes in cavities
breaking up by the minute
in the nuclear heart
of all that will pass.




Poetry by Bob
Read 584 times
Written on 2009-01-27 at 11:20

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kath
A nostalgic and stron write as I see it adressing the time felt inside and outside ... how they merge and we realise the oneness in us and of the universe ...beautiful
2009-01-27