Soft, warm winds circle past tongue and lips,
Temperate tones swirl and emerge,
Gaining momentum as a howling storm,
Her tropical surging song melts the mic.
Tear and years fly uprooted through amplified blasts,
Humid, sultry breaths ride and slide free chords,
Crying out, knocking on boarded windows of defeat,
Her tropical surging song melts the mic.
Hard feelings, no longer buried,
Scatter, pelting new grounds,
No longer still, no longer dry, no longer cold,
Her tropical surging song melts the mic.
Mary Talbot Fee,3-21-09
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem