The heavy legs that drag across
A floor of cold, concrete
Still life
The photos a sepia frame
Of shutter chance
Un captured
(Would the taste of departure
Be sweeter then a memoir
Locked and kept like a mistress)
When the body lowers
Level with stone
Sleep is invasive
So persuasive
No longer elusive
As it was initially portrayed
In a black and white art
(Just loosing a foot over a scenery where people
Seem no bigger then ants under my shoe
Just to sense my body tingle in angst
Of itself)
Hush
Feign a silence
So becoming of nature
(A few tender feet closer
As the attention is spilled
In waking)
(Could it be a calamitous sting
To release the angst throughout
And greet the nation under my shoe
With a loud crashing shout)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the taste of departure is...what keeps me becoming back...you know...if there is return...but this does not sound like a love story...oh well...so what is...'bugging' you...haha...just kidding...another grand poem...i like the perspective of the different color effects...it really makes the...blocking...you know...in parentheses...pop out...sweet...