i walk
with the darkness
of december
there is no thermometer
for pain and unrest
what was before my eyes
has vanished
only colorless threads
on avenues remain
an all-invested night
is my tomb
and
a pasture of stars
is cluttered
by oil slicks
burning drums
and neon
to nowhere
i smell and crave
the scent of poppies
though the lipless man
of winter calls
hinged is his door
of numb and oblivious
that opens the eyes
of anonymous
life
and its rude rules
curbs in my passway
horns in my head
walls in my mind
all their ragged edges
covering me
like silent years
of an insomniac
grief is parallel
against the cold wind
bracing my shut eyes
with a breathless woman
i hear sirens pass
but i never saw
the goodbye
In a list
A contest entry
- hidden agenda by dance for me.
300 points, ended October 18, 11 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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though the lipless man
of winter calls
If I had not already applauded I would. If I had and ap would allow me to do it again, I would. Love it.
-
superb
-
Intense
Some intense writing here on this page,
so much to ponder, I myself have read this three times already it is so thick of emotion, I needed to take the time and ponder within it. ahhh you always take my mind to deeper passages.
Brilliant work as always many blessings.
Frozentearz
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You are an amazing writer.
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Richard . . . I find myself more compelled to read your words with every posting . . . This has a sensitive brilliance to it that one seeks high and low for . . . Sometimes the poetry game can mystify and beguile, but rarely does something this rich come before my eyes . . .
Marc
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we all have our own style of writing, our own ways of expressing the thoughts and feelings of being human, and you, my friend, do it so damn well! This is a poem one can read over and over and still find something between the cracks you didn't see before...
Love, Lane
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Richard, You are so awesome.
"walls in my mind
all their ragged edges
covering me
like silent years
of an insomniac"
I just got home from vacation, back to reality, but you make me glad to be back...
big hugs
for my friend
Lynda
-
"grief is parallel
against the cold wind
bracing my shut eyes
with a breathless woman"
The pure perfection inherent within the utter definition of something undescribable.Beautifulness.
Good luck in the contest, my multi~talented, multi~facted, multi~colored Friend.
-
Perfection
into the millionth degree.
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