|
Post by Bobby Slais on Dec 16, 2007 9:01:17 GMT -5
In the dim forest, he has no eyes. The warmth that his torso envied is chilled, the droplets in the blinding storm, silent, gaunt, and gray.
The river in the barren valley, slowed, plodding silent. His eyes are gaunt and gray, his torso dim and chilled. He is blind and slow and silent.
He is envious and gray. He is barren. He has no warmth. He is a valley, a river, a storm. He has no voice.
He is a forest nobody can see. The vine hung, hidden in the shadow's space. The tree has died, the bark, leaves fall down. The slope he once climbed, eroded.
He is the shadow, the hidden, the hung. He is the falling and the hopeless ascent. The tree is mother; he has no eyes, the mother has died, he is dim.
Bobby 2007
|
|