Weeps And Shudders Poem by Eric Cockrell
Weeps And Shudders
the hands on the clock
crawl from need to despair,
from despair to the edge,
from the edge to the fall...
they call it flight!
the gift of the body
to the spirit,
of the spirit to the night.
i call it nails,
the to and fro saw,
dust on the floor,
and dust becomes dust!
the river names itself,
when it breaks through the rocks.
the rocks shout with joy,
the night weeps and shudders!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 7:33:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Another great poem. A great write.