The leaves outside the volcano
Enter a vortex
Of loyal leaf time
And in the quiet colored collect,
On the other side of a mind set,
There sits an awful fever,
A murderous storm.
It inches to the dust
On a scene of water
Started between
Two telephone collect calls.
Only we can lay low
On that day that we
So willingly exposed
Ourselves to the appetite
Of the prey on prey,
It ends the day.
This is no ballet recital.
In fact, it's not even
A frantic calling in which
I twist and twitch
And I think that maybe
I'm choking on you.
And so...
So...
Shall we moan...
And so...
(So!)
So...
(So!)
Shall we moan...
Simple thoughts are thick.
They interfere
With the killing of
Sickly wings
That quiet against the eggs.
They die, and live
But the dire respects became them.
A shameless flock of rocks
Make me wonder if
There really is a sort of sorting
(A sort of sorting)
A sort of sorting of the appetite
Of man.
And so...
So...
Shall we moan...
And so...
(So!)
So...
(So!)
Shall we moan...
A contest entry
- picture prompt by StarLover.
700 points, ended February 10, 5 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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i agree with the other comment. very complex but i loved it....cant say i ogt it all lol. but i love your style.
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Very interesting concept you have here! Very complex if I do say so myself! Thanks for the entery! xoxo Miranda
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