The ebbing life of leaves--
my long ago heart
like a dream catcher hanging on
I cannot persuade you,
bear no gifts of consolation
or reconciliation,
just lonely poems, meeting
clay feet on mother earth
rosemary and lavender hint at our passing
the scent of us
leaving nothing behind,
the forest grows wild again
like a vacant stare.
Comments
Oh yes!
But have I ever mentioned that I have a problem with self-referential poetry, and even worse poems about poems?
Why Jess, not that I recall.
Why Jess, not that I recall. Is this where I say Rumpelstiltskincc real fast 3 times?
Smile.
~A
Not a problem,
just a preference.
I like poetry to be for all.
That is why I have disliked Loved's poetry till recently. It's all been about him/herself and Neopoet.
Stoned
and moved by these wonderful words.
L