Death is eyes,
spans of feathered seconds,
gilded, scattered leaves
who cannot find their mouths,
groping for another summer moment.
Now, the rains begin, color runs
from winter's fear of freezing alone,
while Autumn peals such softened skin
from these bewildered skeletons of tears.
What is soul, but falling earthward,
when season slips to sacred compost,
melting wish, for ground to ponder.
A contest entry
- Free Fall by Peteskid.
700 points, ended September 12, 2007, 12 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
a wonderful poem here and the metaphor to the eyes is well used, as the personified elements seek last moments in the sun; very creative and excellent writing.hank you for this fine entry into the contest and best of luck in the judging...PK
-
Beautiful penning!
"Now, the rains begin, color runs
from winter's fear of freezing alone"
Ah! Wonderful! Sigh~ This is a beautiful piece. Godo luck in PK's contest,.
Namita
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