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His Truth.
His Light.
His Life-Giving Word.
Enters in.
Healing all my broken places.
Mending.
Every scar.
Keeping me.
From falling
apart.
 Feb 2017 Micahel De Tomasso
Colm
From the last scribble
To the last scrawl

The last storm which lasts
Beyond the last hope in all

Like a lasting song
Or the last lengthy drawl

Let the artist draw last
What is meant to be drawn
At the first moment... And the last. I will find smiles.
Her expression is that of a child
Filled with wonder and mild
Panning deep blue waters
She is the gulfs daughter enthralled-
in the afternoon sea-breeze , longing for
sanddollars , tiny shells and dolphins ,
sandcastles and clapping palm trees* ..
Copyright February 20 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Did you know?
I have vines growing around my ribs now.
A tree growing in my guts where I used to hold galaxies.
Churning stardust catching between teeth,
Painting my lips.
Seeping out of my skin and into the sink.

I am a book of metaphors and paradox.
I am nothing at all.
I speak you fair with a liars tongue,
All made of silver and moondust.
Easy words.

I am celestial,
And though your starstuff still makes me sick in the mornings,
Picking your shine from my teeth
All your refuse still inside me wretched into the sink.
Though my limbs are scarred with an effort to see my own galaxies
I am through obsessing over celestial souls.

Too many boys and girls with stars in their eyes
Or Saturn's rings around their fingers
Have caught me with lunar promises and magic fallen from careless lips
Like meteor showers.
I'm rid of my stars.

Now I've been planting flowers in my ribs
The vines mingle with a web of forget-me-nots and bleeding hearts
Lavender buds sprouting from old scars
I pass the 3 am itch off as them growing
Learn to ignore it.
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