I see a ghost- such pale gold sun-
through a shroud of maudlin gray
when winter yet so very young
and hung like shadows over day
and I followed into the west
on chariot of misinvention
the flat face glow above attests
a captive of brave
intentions
the journey to a home not home
and a restless pause in the night
when life is a rust covered poem
and I drown in the urge to write
a tale of hearts and flowered seeds
of spirit sown in hungered needs
of spirit sown in hungered needs
2 comments:
I don't think I still know how to leave a proper comment on poetry, but I still know how to say 'I like it'. Rhymes are quite smooth, specially sun/young.
Well, it does not matter how you say it, not nearly as much as whether you say it..:)
it is always welcomed when you say it...h
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