Barren Is The Vine Poem by jack green
Barren Is The Vine
The cracked cobblestone memories, are heavy with time.
As are the wrinkles, on my once young face.
Carved by the years, burned by the sun, barren is the vine.
Cold fingers now reap the harvest, of this empty place.
Gone are the flowers of spring, from my mind.
Drowned by the water of pain's cold everlasting embrace.
This poem is perfection Jack. You really should write more my friend.
chilling! Another great poem! - really love the feel and images this one creates! !
A haunting piece....I've read it thrice and will continue to come back to this. Sends a slight shiver down my spine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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10/13/2024 2:58:40 PM # 1.0.0
one are the flowers of Spring from my mind. the flowers fade as time goes on. a lovely write.