Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

On The Death Of A Young Woman


I whom never taught you.
I am your other half.
Half of what I am I never was.
Never being what I was, You hope I am.
Young I am strong wrapped in your feeble arms.
Hickory trees are golden the pine trees in the dark.
Deeper in the ground I am and I never quite so still.
Voices growing louder up above my loamy bed.
To be an angel inbetween a chest I lay my head.

What trouble is a tooth O how below I strain.
The hand the fingers rest between each breath I take.
Peace is being full to bursting with the light so white.
And in darkness only I can come.
When the deepest root
is snaped in half my child hood day has flown.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 26, 2011
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