roads are etched
into the mountains
like fingernails
scraping earth-skin
but the only lines
dividing the sky
are the slopes
of wise faced clouds
peering from their breaths.
if they could fall away-
the land would be empty
without lovers,
the sky lonely
without guardians
and when we can realize
we know nothing more about
the tear-spattered dirt
than heavens that cry,
the horizon will dissolve
into our hearts,
the earth will become
part of the sky.
A contest entry
- Authentic Skies by Chris T. Puncher.
3000 points, ended July 7, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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i have smiled and you know what i think.... your path is good i can see that no more needs said i like it short and sincere
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i love the philosophical aspect about this. the symbolic imagery is simple, but that is what makes the meaning so accessible - and the message effective.
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the first stanza immediately brought an image of God to mind...but like a child playin in the dirt shapin a miniature landscape. nice lines throughout: but the only lines
dividing the sky
are the slopes
of wise faced clouds
peering from their breaths; the tear-spattered dirt
than heavens that cry, my favorites.
still the last stanza reads like ancient wisdom and i can't argue with its spirit. you're gettin brighter. don't stop.
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as if i didnt have a hard enough time judging this contest, you throw another at me
this feeling you get when you stare a the sky as day passes into night, and everything just explodes, but no one seems to notice, yet you feel like you do, like you're the only one standing there, the only one who has ever stood there, who ever will
beautiful
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the lines on the mountains followed up the clouds
rigs a hack kneed ladder into the sky
that falls away when the sky clears
laying out against sky to parallel lines that never met
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how did you did that
... you have gone into some primordial substances here, oh, yeah 
i know it looks easy and sounds simple, and ironic and the poem is put together by a poet, yep, but ... poet has done more than that here ... the mysterious longing we have for the stars and skies when someone is pieces and bloodied right at our feet, the smearing of flower petal colors into our poet pen for a gander at a lovely tome when the ground is full of venoms and toxins that would make demons flee and weep in fear ... and the poem we write might have a ghost or a distant howl that we don't even know we wrote ...
i know, you might not have meant it all that way, but hta's how i read it and that's why i like it and i'm the reader so i'm the boss and yer not !!!!!
so there
this is so good this is so good this is so good
anyhow, i didn't mean to go on and on ... right
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awwwwwwwwwwww damn this melts my heart...
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