The swell
of cedarwood, deep in the burrow
Ambrose waits, and he is risen
where winter rests
in a bed of water, soft smiles
pale faces
blue babies in golden reeds.
swollen still
in the stillness of tomorrow,
of yesterday's grief, to be
reborn every morning
in the pineal quest of
nirvana, the navel's bud,
to grow yellow, languid
from the icy bloom
of self defeat
and smile, smile.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
The swell
of cedarwood, deep in the burrow
Ambrose waits, and he is risen
where winter rests
in a bed of water, soft smiles
pale faces
blue babies in golden reeds.
swollen still
in the stillness of tomorrow,
of yesterday's grief, to be
reborn every morning
in the pineal quest of
nirvana, the navel's bud,
to grow yellow, languid
from the icy bloom
of self defeat
and smile, smile.
Request permission to use this poem