Monday, September 24, 2012


I walk a path I may not know
Among the fresh and fallen snow
From here to there it seems to go
Footprints filled by a wispy blow

A face, a room, a ceiling pass
Like light upon a fractured glass
Without a word, a hope, or mass
Created of a misty gas

I think I’ve heard a voice before
It cries and weeps beyond my door
Has our old father come back poor?
Without a job and begging sore

I have no child, not as yet
As my mother is sure to vet
Yet now your cheeks turn startling wet
When we are but two strangers met

It is cold and I’m yet to sleep
Dark nightmares seem to haunt the deep
Cool shadows whence I long to leap
From the seems of worlds, black veils seep

Bright green grass between my toes
Like a hungry child grows
Safe along in faithful rows
Tulips, daisies, and a Rose

No comments:

Post a Comment