Touching Delicate Torching Plams - Poem by jerome moore
Reaching my hands out
I hold fire in my palms.
Touching delicate things
destroys a piece of my mind.
i put my hand on the orange silver strands of earth
and watching them gingerly blow my mind,
turning red over orange then black etc
smoldering, when like a spring breaking
I hear a rolling trolly car with cold and shiny bars.
Comments about Touching Delicate Torching Plams by jerome moore
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You