Nov 2015
I found three heads
Rock toils from the earth
Their eyes expressive with sculptor’s mistakes
It seemed as if the forest had let slip
Its fantasy into mine
Why heads? Why just three?
I don’t think they were meant to be there
As the trees hear you coming they hide their playthings
Perhaps I was too quiet.
Rock toils from the earth
Their eyes expressive with sculptor’s mistakes
It seemed as if the forest had let slip
Its fantasy into mine
Why heads? Why just three?
I don’t think they were meant to be there
As the trees hear you coming they hide their playthings
Perhaps I was too quiet.
A poem I wrote a while ago. I love it because it tells me that there are amazing things lurking behind every fog and every dark night.
