Thump...thump...thump
capillary, vessel, anhydrous pump
inward pressure abounds
beat upon beat, heartfelt sounds.
Thump...thump...thump
guttural, airless trunk
chips down
nowhere surrogates sordid frown.
Pivot, about face...right...nothing
again...backwards...nothing
right face...nothing
forward...again...still nothing.
But there is always blood...
pumping... headwaters flood
pounding fear...
something... always lurking near.
As the root word is Latin
communicate... fatten
language of the word
rarely ever heard.
Excepting
idle transduction.
Talk to the birds.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Reflections of clouds
rest on silent waters
disappearing in ripples
as little breezes speak to the fishes'
swimming in schools
darting this way and that,
mesmerizing the watcher
into an enchanting melancholy daze.
The cork floats motionless
near the edge of a fallen tree
resting in the shade
of the tiny pond's wood lined shore
as the worm's warm heartbeat quietly fades
from this life to another
and Fate shines on him
bestowing all the glory of a fallen king.
And the Watcher,
perched upon his stump,
oblivious to the marvelous,
nods in sleepy jerks
as his hat slips from the smoothness of his hairless head,
tipping freedom's rain
to call on earthy beating hearts
that wriggle away, unbeknownst to him.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC