Late there hangs
Solemn pages, leaves
Yet addressed or pressed
You've passed as though
Importance hangs with this
Uncovered ground where rakes
Await my hand, intonation
Could it be that voices
Warm with anger, disabuse
Could hang in the air
Where silence once beckoned
The still hand echoing
With measured breath
Could bellow, virtue...
A contest entry
- late September by Namita.
300 points, ended June 8, 2008, 18 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
I too, would like it better if you had not capitalized every first letter of every line. It disrupts the flow. Good poem, otherwise. Thanks for entering.
Namita
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the caps are throwing me off...might want to look at some of the others writes here..
hope you don't mind my imput...I mean well
mal
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