gravestone

say to men
never question
when sadness laughs
at sacred trees and rhythm grass
though green was the only color
of dark yesterday
a cold hand seeps down
the decaying bones of dawn
breathe slow my concrete angel
you marble ghost of man
eternity devours the day
and surrounds our morning
to waking prisoners of time
1 Comments:
Nice poem, Pete -- like the language and the imagery. . .
11:37 PM
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