hit counter html code


March 7, 2005 - A poem about  Situations

The Event.

Breathing more,
tired bones re-aligned
from hunched disposition.
Inside, the curl of change
like snapping chains
and knots untied -
teased threads undone,
winter ribbons
frayed by afterwind.
In knowing
all is even now -
no fractured sleep
or shuddered night
to steal the soul,
pour freedom’s gold
in leaden mould.
Now gone choked days,
and shutter eye nights
forgotten mutterings,
of chipped-cog cries,
all but silenced now.
Through defiant eyes,
stare straight on
past tense, past all -
see your toils spent
in preparation,
for this event.


Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.