6th January 2011.

Sleeping tide.

An hour crawled like a bitter steed,
As the minute hand flew past me.
And the rim of a hardened pioneer,
Told the seconds to live in fear.
He counts my pulse,
Controlling resumes,
When it was due -
Either past, present, or future.
Mist of this time shall obscure me,
Pulling the rio of sleeping tide,
The moon was the sun
For one night only -
A time for the ghosts to cry.

A city of lights beneath my feet,
Stars in the reflecting sane,
Seems many people can't stand the heat,
Of this crucial pain.

See you cannot find the otherside,
Even with the signs.
Hello, how are you feeling?
Goodbye, see you sometime.

Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 899 times
Written on 2011-01-06 at 01:21

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Libyan Rose
very rish poem with mental pictures , i like it . keep it up with that sense

I sense you are extending into new territory in your poetry. This appears to be an exciting embarkation into new and fresh things.

melanie sue
Beautiful poetics and a much enjoyed read!