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Contributed by sasha on Sunday, 29th November 2009 @ 09:24:44 PM in AEST
Topic: DarkPoetry

Too many sunsets away, hope perched solo
With the strong blue poppies, on high mountains
The wind blew stories, ice-swept and shuddering
Of indurate roulettes tossed around a few whims
Notes tumbled E-flat on eerie nothings, surprised
The madness was, of some ardent and others inert
Of the same entity, a man, and then his whims
To call it love, and pour it on the innate porous
Surfaces some, exposed in delight, surface scathed
To play, till the play swallows her own
A time when whim realizes he had had all his bids
Opened, answered, granted and realized unknown,
And taken away because he was all too frozen
And the winds blew stories, ice-sweptshuddering

Copyright © sasha ... [ 2009-11-29 21:24:44]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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