he hid, between lines drawn
in sand and sky, beat down
bent over, forced to feel the earth
for the first time
millions perished, millions more
clung to wire and wood and
the bones of old Mother Nature
as she hurried by
he hid, while she wept
and God's chin
pointed sharply at them
with learned obedience
and a time-tested patience
that neither one of them knew
existed
he hid
a certain meaning, pompously
painted in poetry
clapped-shut, shoved forward,
trembling hands
reach out from teary eyes
he hid
in the basement again, while
she slid
further away.
Author notes
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Comments
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Is Salem the leading breeding ground for hopeless romanticism?
This is good, man. Not a line wasted. That 3rd stanza in particular is a killer, but the whole piece is terrific. Well done!
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thanks man.
we really ought to stop stroking each other in public, the others will get jealous
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