I could still smell the red
underneath salted feet;
it was opaque as
our Autumn sunset,
and damp like mountain dew.
The harvest came with shells
already husked;
and you stood, waiting,
for the ice to frost.
The bid was too soon,
days transpired to become
an inconvenience;
Where the snow lies buttoned up,
that's where you still stand;
bothered by the shadow
of displacement;
And when time was filled in
to the point where you were so close,
so strong that I could feel your breath
and taste your insecurity,
it was too late for summer
upbringings;
too late for fall abundance.
It seems that with casket faith
and burdened belief-
it's death that keeps you here.
Author notes
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=bBWliffMAYI
The Last Man-Fountain Soundtrack.
A contest entry
- Sounds by film.
400 points, ended November 16, 2008, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
"and you stood, waiting,
still waiting for
the ice to frost. "
i suggest you take out one of the 'waiting's'
other than that this was utterly beautiful and i honestly hope you win this
Adding your comment:
