My Fingers Know Better Poem by Cee Bea
My Fingers Know Better
I feel
the ache of the new
millennium,
growing into time
as it echoes in granite
conclusions
I know what my fingers
can not say.
But they know
their own worth
as they reply with faked gracious
condemnations of their own.
Easter will signal change
the sun ablaze, a silence
of a thousand voice's
and the fresh hue of green
I know.. this makes
little sense
but my fingers
seem to know better.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 2:45:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
