Zoe Guillory Poems
|44.||A Desparate Song||6/23/2012|
|46.||Years In The Making||6/23/2012|
|47.||Your Chamber Of Memory||6/23/2012|
|48.||Thoughts At A Zoo||6/23/2012|
|50.||The Lost People Of A Peaceful Place||7/15/2012|
|51.||Cowardice Or Intelligence?||7/22/2012|
|54.||My Little Sister's Hands||7/3/2013|
|56.||Irises In Boxes||7/3/2013|
|57.||The Strength Of The Tiger||7/3/2013|
|60.||A Stranger To Silence||7/3/2013|
|62.||Along Came A Spider||6/23/2012|
|63.||Where I'M From||6/23/2012|
|64.||Little Lost Boy||3/31/2013|
|65.||The Backwards Boy In The Backwards World||8/31/2012|
|67.||Songs Of September||7/3/2013|
Songs Of September
The leaves faded to orange.
Dappled light at sunset; a spiritual balance.
The fire of Death as is licks up the green.
Faded to orange and fell like hanged men.
And dried to brown.
Fresh earth; the bark of their mothers.
The poverty of the cities of filth.
Dried to brown and crushed like insects.
The trees were left alone.
As the squirrels scurry.
Scurry to gather their life's work
and survive through the soft snow
and the cold hard ground.
The silent crunches of dried leaves;
Death sets beneath the weight of the wind.
The heat of love had ...
As I stand out gazing at the fantasical landscape before me,
I see the waterfalls breaking water and throwing it around amoung
the glittering, curling plants as they drink the sparkling silver water.
It was breathtaking.
More beautiful than the sunset over pure salt water.
I wanted to touch it.
I wanted to pick the flowers glowing with life and bathein the broken water. Clence my hair under the fall
and air-dry on the faces
of the midnight boulders.