Patti Masterman


No Cure - Poem by Patti Masterman

We are the leaden statues,
Who creak the world with comings and goings.
Fate lies ponderous beneath our feet,
Our will of basalt, grip of iron.

Our pasts rise high, like a mountain range
That obscures well the clouded future;
They say we're divine, the offspring of gods-
Or else a rust, on worn-out sutures.

Topic(s) of this poem: aging


Comments about No Cure by Patti Masterman

  • Smoky Hoss (6/24/2014 7:52:00 PM)

    ... this is what I love 'bout yer poems! ... makes me ponder, from the soul... I like it. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, June 20, 2014



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