I'll read one
and then I won't
the words of a ghost
my father and why
when asked
did he not cry
wood burned in the park
the birch dark bridge
as he sat
a god aghast
in a sunken chest
barrel bursts
then cracks of silence
and I'll ask once
but wanting won't sing
birds bent and fled
from freedom
came the scent
the signal fires rose
and gathered
by clouds by
carrion crows
the clean black matte
of ash and bone
-ca
About the Creator
CA
Sound Engineer, Poet, sometimes-composer.
"Tell all the truth but tell it slant" - Emily Dickinson.
Hall of mirrors
Things used to matter, before all the noise. And at that time when things still had meaning, there had been dreaming too, when dreams still mattered. And the brightest dream from those times was full of mountains and seas and smiles and the types of passion that absorbs you the way a dog is absorbed by witnessing something for the first time: with absolute presence, and awe.
By Giulia Viti2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I love the imagery. And the last stanza is lovely.