Christopher Withers Poems
|41.||The Watcher Is Watched||9/17/2014|
|42.||They Come, They Play||12/4/2008|
|43.||Thoughts Of An Atheist||11/15/2006|
|44.||Time's Swift Beat||2/27/2008|
|45.||Together We Crumble, Stumble, And Fall||11/16/2006|
|51.||Witness Of The Modern Age||5/16/2009|
vision stunted by past deeds
leading to my current place,
childhood face: disconnected,
now adrift on stagnant lake.
cynicism scrawls the map
leading to my resting place,
a symptom of a drying mind,
what once was fluid, now is blind.
each denial of childhood dream
fractures now my world it seems.
mothers tears dried in her grave,
childhood view: never saved.
On This Autumnal Day
balding trees echo with
the memory of recent rain,
their quiet voice mourns their loss
with twisted black hands
dormant grass, covered
in blanket, spun
from golden tears,