Still-life spans to sculpted winds of Colorado feather,
my step, as printed path in shadow's aftermath,
sinking sun in stained, cold dwelling,
swelling soul to open whisper.
Is prayer a crisper echo,
passion caught in cracks of insecurity,
obscure inhibition,
where contrition cried to window closed,
that voice beyond, too tired to listen?
I have grown so big for shoes,
this barefoot boy,
a toy for gods,
Vishnu blowing temple dry
to orange sky of Grander Canyon.
So silent are these truths that bind me,
each foot frail
to follow freedom,
down bright angel, taught and twisting,
misting more than move might mention,
this dance,
away from apprehension
in demented drift of granite schist
these walls, I crave to save my echo.
A contest entry
- Favorites (Invite Only) by Lj-.
600 points, ended August 29, 2008, 24 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
you write amazing, beautiful poetry, Rich....so happy to see you acknowledged with gold here, congrats
-
Awesome flow.
You're so amazing in your writing style-
the little rhymes and use of alliterations.
Thank you for your entry,
Best of luck!
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Simply beautiful...
-
R~
WOW!!! What a read this one is! Something in this one, is soothing, yet leaves the reader just craving more. What a wonderful read! The picture fits perfectly!
Best of luck in this contest!
and love my friend
Nyetta
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