Not Long Left

Rookie (17.05.1981 / The Molten Core)

The Wrist - Poems Of The Body - Poem by Not Long Left

The wrist:
The neck of the hand
tingles when touched.
Fragile as ice on a lake.
Under which the waters of
life flow in red glory.
Often this paper thin skin
is savaged by the slender
blade of despair;
Red rivers drain
and weaken the heart.
The Wrist:
Delicate Neck of the hand
under which all life flows.

Comments about The Wrist - Poems Of The Body by Not Long Left

  • (4/23/2006 2:03:00 PM)

    Vincent, get some fresh air. Wrist contemplation whilst depressed is a bad, bad topic. (Report) Reply

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  • Ernestine Northover (4/11/2006 3:15:00 PM)

    That's a beuatiful write about something we tend to take for granted. Very good indeed. Love Ernestine XXX (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 11, 2006

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