Reaching greedy hands
grasped at my stuffing made of straw
and I was decaying, like compost
crushed by layers of crud
I dug furiously, with cravings and claws
and found nothing but fish and frogs
Come sundown cessation
to wanting my own will
came a night’s warm rush:
I was swept up
in spite of my clinging
to something lustier
blowing in the wind
Author notes
“Backwards I see in my own where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments. I witness and wait.
“Song Of Myself” – Walt Whitman
To R. Cross with love
jpg = GoGratitude
In a list
A contest entry
- love by Melissa Gayle.
1000 points, ended December 29, 2008, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Not at all cliche, that is just wonderful and so very appreciated.
This is very well done, metaphoric and full of imagery -
Another stunning write by you....
Such a perfect ending...
Amazing once again gf
Lynda
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