This site will self destruct in 2 months, March 17. It will come back, and be familiar and at the same time completely different. All content will be deleted. Backup anything important. --- Staff
|
|
Her head on his shoulder He stares through the seats, Out the windscreen, Through cloud smothered stars; The lights one might mistake as morning Flashes barely moving his lips Slight shaking from the cold Dread of passion. This is passion; The lifeless river he has conjured And will let pass over him. This is passion; Unmoving in the seats, Ignorant of stars, Fogged up by memories And harsh Winter wounds. This is lying together Absent-mindedly For the briefest of moments. Out the window, Uncaring as it seems When the dawn comes eventually It brings with it it's cold white wrath. |
I wish you would have written more concerning her. Your illustrations of passion are definitive, yet I am unsure of what your "lifeless river" truly describes? It's as if you both are dying, or she is already gone... If you wouldn't mind discussing your work here, it would be great to hear from you, I believe your writing stands out but I am always careful to not assume I understand the author's background or inspiration. Either way, very moving language, thanks for sharing. -Tony | Posted on 2012-12-13 00:00:00 | by nwproud | [ Reply to This ] | |