A torrid rumbling in my head
Chants for the making of a poem,
But no words in my head respond
To the hungry, chanting plea.
A brass rim hugs an acre of
A zinc ocean, no fish no birds,
Save an empty body, no soul no words,
Fluttering on a broken sea.
And lifting from time to time,
From wave to wave, a valedictory
Pallid hand in lieu of a grimace.
©LazharBouazzi (August 11, 2017)
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC
A torrid rumbling in my head
Chants for the making of a poem,
But no words in my head respond
To the hungry, chanting plea.
A brass rim hugs an acre of
A zinc ocean, no fish no birds,
Save an empty body, no soul no words,
Fluttering on a broken sea.
And lifting from time to time,
From wave to wave, a valedictory
Pallid hand in lieu of a grimace.
©LazharBouazzi (August 11, 2017)
