Kailashana2
Oct 11, 2011

listen to a voice calling from where the heron waits

Turn me over
in my grave
and set me free,
do not
admonish me or banish me
to your own private hell

Make no promises
you can not keep,
uncork the bottle that forgets time,
let's be drunk
on the sentience of love
and make love
until my lips turn cold
to kisses
and the stream of sunlight

The moonlight and her erstwhile shadow
belong to no one's avail,
but feel all of you,
inside me,
clamoring to be heard

Write a poem, and dance
your dance, oh drunken poet!

Break down your walls with the insight of falling leaves.

About This Poem

Last Few Words: I hadn't realized that this poem emerges as the voice of the muse. We have to die to ourselves thousands of times. Only then will the muse be heard once again over our own din. ~A

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Ohio, USA

Favorite Poets: Bokonon: “Let your life be the poem you write”.

More from this author

Comments

M

As I get ready for my big day Anna. I did get chance to read this and I will think of this one while I am there.

Break down your walls

with the insight of

the falling leaves

Beautiful

(check the word sentence for spelling)

Love to you my friend and may I call you just that this morning. Mona sighs times three
Bella Mona Hugs out to you coco

K

Life is a spiral, my darling JC, we meet each other again and again, we come through the other side of the same type lows...of trials and tribulations; heights.... of bliss, joy...

~

Esker

Esker

13 years 6 months ago

leaves are falling in the heat
the cold nights the wind the rains
are taking them

fall the time of gathering
of remembrance
of preparing for winter
storing summer things
aside like memories
as in the north climes
the nights draw darker

Magnificent poem
shadowed and felt