Illusions fade come morning sun,
you stand in a ditch
on the side of a road—
a brittle smile
miles of bile
and an empty bottle of Scotch.
Your dream is the dirt
is the snakes
is the hole
in place of the soul
that flew to the moon
hours ago
when spirits were high
stars in the sky
sparkled in the poor man’s eyes.
Dancing on graves
a moment to crave
romping freely in the night—
but nothing saves
the mind of a slave
from discovering shackles
come morn.
The sun unrelenting
revealing the dirt
the scar of a wounded past—
you toss the past with the empty bottle
and go your own way at last.
“Life is a bitch”
you climb out of the ditch,
the only saving grace is your own,
you carve your own road
with hammers of gold
borrowed from paths of men.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
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8 comments:
The sun unrelenting
revealing the dirt
the scar of a wounded past—
you toss the past with the empty bottle
and go your own way at last.
beautiful.... sometimes the awarness of a beautiful mind breeds an ugly image of thought. but that uglinss has the shade of the beauty itself within.
its a pleasure visitin ur blog. v share the same passion for poetry. its a connect on spiritual spectrum. beautifull indeed.
Borrowed, and yet your own. There is so much inside waiting to be discovered. With each new style, you are going deeper, and it is beautiful to watch.
Fantastic poem. The whole blog is cool. Nice work!
**Illusions fade come morning sun,
you stand in a ditch
on the side of a road—
a brittle smile
miles of bile
and an empty bottle of Scotch.**
Beutifully delivered !
Arent the shakles of destiny and life as it is the biggest illusions the human eye ever has to witness ? And we try to shut off all that, with things just mentioned in the first stanza...
NIce...
As usual lady you are stunning. I think you should read one aloud. I imagine it would only add to the power that you ofer us in written terms.
I apologize for my absence, classes have beeb driving me crazy. But I am glad you are still here. We all would lose something if you were not.
You are a brilliant writer lady friend.
Soft love,
T
"in place of the soul
that flew to the moon"
i love that.
great poem.
How do you eat poetry?
You gobble it, chomp it, chew it, savor every bite.
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