Passion Poetry: Spoken Boughs

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Spoken Boughs

You are the tree I lean against in contemplative prose As pregnant clouds birth raindrops falling into my cup like a river overflowing tears of joy and angst For as the tree you stand steadfast and pity not the mortal that I be Your roots in terra-firma mock my contemplations The Sage of Time a thousand years ago with wisdom full wrested more desperate than me I, a babe in the woods, pull close the garment Anguish as wind whips and sirens about the bitter chill of mockery laughs against my... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by freerain at 2:16 PM Comments (0) (permalink)