profound_vision
Sep 04, 2009 23:27
the days were like clay
in our hands
as we shifted and shaped
its dimensions
amusing
our whims.
Oh,
but so
tenderly
we shaped the days
into
circles
for sunshine
and moonlight
and faces
and pupils
that look
into one another.
Circles because, they are simple
yet only the outer edges
are seen
and
you
are left
with
mystery
in
profound_vision
Sep 04, 2009 23:25
I'm tired of writing poems about people....
I want to write
a poem about
how
the flower would greet me
with its green and cherry-colored
attributes.
The wind
would speak
to the sky
and imitate
its reflection
As the clouds
butted in on their
conversation.
