The things I wanted to say to you.
Those helenic blood diamonds dug from quarry
fused by quantum pressure and the anxiety of the earth.
They were never fired.
Forced by circumstance, the old western scout opened the cylinder
His final rounds fell to the grass.
He left his shelter prepared to meet arrow shaft
yet the Iroquois had already left the field.
I remember the awkward car ride.
They sat in the backseat like dogs
who sense that something bad is happening but can’t understand its origin.
I left them to some forgotten wood
but sometimes I go back to affirm their existence.
They never age nor discourage.
Always golden.
They romp through fields like immortal orphans
never destined to meet their mother.
Comments
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wow
that is a very good poem.
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