A bridge carries us over the hollow land
and strains, hallowed, on the final course,
from bellows that showed us behindhand
the aged spires trailing the stalking horse:
that breaks in our protest atop the willow,
that eternally bleeds before the swallow
and sows us, unbraid, over billows and overflows
as we cross the bridge to freedom, walking slow,
and haul our eggs across the white snows
and leave our hollow nests in this debris,
with wild decadence and the furrows snowy,
with artless Oscars and poet Marlowe,
to egg on a queen’s castle and express
the seeing of the river down below
and show a vision like the best,
and so, Blake’s grave, we now know.
Author notes
Published in Outsiders Writing Collective
Poetry for Lost Souls #4
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This poem made me feel a mite uncomfortable the whole time. I'm pretty sure it was the choppy meter and the fact that some of the words were crammed into each line. Either way, thank you for entering my contest. Good luck to you. I know how hard it is to write a poem on the spot and I appreciate the effort.
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Hmm...different from what I'm used to but good all the same. Thank you so much for entering this into my contest and giving me the oppurtunity to read it. Good luck!
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hollow land
really like it lovelly flow to it
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