Slashing sheets of falling water
Spattered glass with skeletal remains
Of returning drops of used, re-used water
Sweep away what hasn't gone
With your raging whispers
And your tumbling pockets of restless air
Take it
The shuddering fear
The trembling anger
The rending un-stillness
Take it
Fly away with it
Sweep it away
Cradle it, or carry it, or toss it around
Just take it
I don't want it anymore.
---
I don't set out to write poems. They just randomly pop into my head, and demand to be let out again. They don't always reflect my conscious state of mind, and I don't even always know what they're about - it's literally just a collection of words that put themselves together and want to play. So there you go. That's why there aren't too many poems here. I wish I could will them into being, but that's not my gift. But I sure love it when they come to visit.
No comments:
Post a Comment