Ten

I saw ten tigers
in the middle of the night,
ten dead soldiers
weeping in forgotten trenches,
ten fingers framing the moon,
ten different moods
surrounding conception,
ten lame excuses
for not grabbing the hilt,
ten new words for every
imaginary bird
bursting into flames,
ten songs float by,
ten whishes decay,
ten times ten
I bid you farewell,
ten.





Poetry by Bob
Read 493 times
Written on 2011-05-22 at 22:16

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