Is It Poetry

Silver Star - 3,558 Points (1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

it is small, hot, fevered


Be strong, and kind, in warmth, with
this tree my life, i lay in this, hot blot
of ink my head, that seems to cold,
i moan, tremble, lost in rains, that pour
in like a river from a brow, of satin, pain.

I am carried over, i see other things, than it's dreams.
Is it in me? ..It is in it....it is not what you think it is, is it?
I will labor diligently, as always i have, in our pasts, lives.
When i see you next, you will be confused, as i once was.
it is was, riding loose beautiful feet through the gates, of grace.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Edited: Thursday, May 21, 2009

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