I reached out
as we slept,
slowly waking
finding the bed,
behind eyes;
sweet dreams
inside our heads.
Looking in
at odd hours
as winter approaches;
its deaf tread
on ice,
across the frozen
flowerbed.
Bound together,
tight sheets:
arms like stone
as the winds throw
over lawns;
grey with the
dirty snow.
Your hands
reach in morning,
in a new sun
where flowers undo;
lined in soil,
heads bowed on
death row.
I think you wrote this quickly and I think it's rather beautiful - one of those of-the-tongue pieces. t x
It would be a crime if your words were never published for more to read. This is so beautiful Stug and reminds why I loved reading you from the off.... Wonderful piece! HG: -) xx
What a way with words Stug! I love this piece...the imagery is so real and easy to see. Great title and just a wonder filled piece of poetry... I especially love the last verse! =Shelley=
I enjoyed this very much as well Stug, the stylings verys similar to that of Dunstan Attard (Malta) , I think the spirirual overtones and unobtrusive imagery work well here. I will be back to read more of your fine poetry later. Bernie
Fascinating piece - a stream of conscious winter reverie penned with love. Wonderful. love, Allie xxxxxxxxxxx
This is gorgeous, you have a wonderful way with words. Hugs Anna xxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
God this is good, there are some blinding lines in here. It seems effortless and flows so very smoothly. HG: -) xx