Smile - Poem by Tim Carlson
We all feel alone some days,
fretted with anger and emptiness.
What am I but this thing?
a victim of consequence.
Anywhere but here I sit, singing the lament
A glance then dust.
The controlled hooped cadence
Spitted rain against the rock, wheel spinning thread
Cut with silver handled scissors.
His golden soul perched, her neglected down pour of age and weariness,
sings sweet sorrowful music, caressing the wrist that holds the dove.
Frozen fire shows its heart, severe intellect with a clean new self.
Comments about Smile by Tim Carlson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl