My hands
trying to mimic the world;
earthquake, shaking
the ground like a smoothie
where the final screams
that should’ve been prayers
mix into a drink
for the skies.
One man, a survivor, in the desert
dried from the droughts of
their thoughts not to think,
craves for parched wine
and throws his arms
trying to touch the full clouds,
crying “holy, holy,
if the earth is a fly on your wall
then what am I?”
Ironically, it can be seen
in the cement-filled lines
on my palm.
A contest entry
- favorites only by And Hyetal.
450 points, ended April 6, 2008, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - The Ultimate Goal by N e a r.
20000 points, ended June 2, 2008, 946 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - BATTLE OF THE GOLDS THREE by Swan song.
2000 points, ended October 5, 2008, 47 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Shoot.
Comments
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Simply powerful. You never cease to amaze me.
You could use some of this for your 'quake' part of the poem.
thanks for entering.
~Cassie
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I'm so jealous! You can write like this and you live in the perfect country So not fair. Great job hun! xx
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There is nothing to be jelous of with either
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Lies! Anywho, Happy Easter! Hope you have a good day...I'm still recovering lol.
xx
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