Monday, February 8, 2010

Poem 4


From the long lost thrill
of patience run dry
a river of hope
rubs the rock
into sand that falls
for the pouting pull
of gravity in full
until the last
lingering current
cares less of events
and more about tents
loved ones held
in arms that only trigger
warmth up and down
from boot to crown
an undertow
above the head
below the soul
where children
dare to dare
and adults with equal fare
let loose
their minds and dreams
into the stream that runs
uphill downwind
cross country sideways
heaven sent hellbent
with a cold northern wind
and a soft southern grin
wet from the westerly
breeze of eastern ease
blowing rings
of soft smoke
through no smoking pipe dreams
you lie believing
in some truth that
no one felt the need to create
a place to gravitate
a moment evolved
a time
a space
us
and all of you


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