Like One Concussed Poem by Eleanor Ross Taylor
Like One Concussed
Like one concussed, he wakes.
Where's this?
A hole's bombed in the barracks.
He knows damnwell
there is no window there.
This quiet should not be.
He sweats. The tanks have
left without me, one lost survivor.
His hot cheek
grazes lace and lofted down;
the blue wall's whispering.
Bare feet, deep mirror's face,
his, his, his. Oh I do
thee wed, this place.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/26/2024 2:40:07 AM # 1.0.0.1119
