Sunday, December 9, 2012

On Writing















The rarest thoughts
have wings of tissue that
once torn, remain
forever grounded...

Inspiration of the kind
worth sharing
rarely can
take flight;

through you always
remember how it feels
the lift, the thrust,
and now aloft...

Sweet savagery of wind,
bare, craggy heights,
nearness of dimpled cloud
and shock of sunlight...

Green sea beneath
all gold-chipped
tumble of waves and sweep of froth
that cannot stop

that cannot stop,
that, surely,
cannot stop,

And yet
inevitably does.
World without end
but ending
nonetheless.

Wings ripped to shreds,
all broken now,
nerve endings
shrieking pain,

and all that remains:
faint shadow of wings,
the leap
and the ache of the love of it.

7 comments:

  1. I love the imagery you used! Lovely piece!

    Kathy
    http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com

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  2. Beautiful poetry. Good job!

    http://joycelansky.blogspot.com

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  3. "Green sea beneath
    all gold-chipped
    tumble of waves and sweep of froth
    that cannot stop

    that cannot stop,
    that, surely,
    cannot stop"

    LOVE this! It gives the feel of reading poetry at the beach with the waves and wind providing the soundtrack.

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