Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2016
The music has ceased
stirs remain from the dreamland
a sleepy voice asks what time ?
and looks for it's shoes

I had been inhaling words
in small sips for some time
and with a large exhale
a school of small fish
are returned to the wild

I always return
young and unbeaten
first sun
fresh snow on the mountain

I am the river
and this is my song.
Written by
Charles Brannick
299
   Ovi-Odiete
Please log in to view and add comments on poems