Who Counts a Woman's Tears
The abscission of voice comes,storm from the veins of clouds,
cut that bleeds a profusion of thoughts.
She trails a finger through confusion,
seeks coagulation, anything that solidifies.
"Free but lonely" --- an epitaph signed
by empty arms from lip to heart,
extended to a faithless world.
Something more than silence ---
tears for a haptic prayer.
Poetry by Brian Oarr
Read 870 times
Written on 2009-02-25 at 00:21




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