Wading in and out like giants,
Titanic winter feet, brushed through like marble
They caught nothing.
They scraped against he canvas of the sky,
and where their curious fingers touched the
Low hanging fabric of the air
they sent pin-pricks of fire blazing through the night.
Almost gentle, they ripped trees from the ground.
Not from spite, simply to see
Where their water crawled
when they went to sleep.
They held the leathery trunks above their heads and looked into them,
freckling their perfect ivory faces with the black of earth.
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 9:48 PM UTC
Wading in and out like giants,
Titanic winter feet, brushed through like marble
They caught nothing.
They scraped against he canvas of the sky,
and where their curious fingers touched the
Low hanging fabric of the air
they sent pin-pricks of fire blazing through the night.
Almost gentle, they ripped trees from the ground.
Not from spite, simply to see
Where their water crawled
when they went to sleep.
They held the leathery trunks above their heads and looked into them,
freckling their perfect ivory faces with the black of earth.
This poem is a ******* mess, I know. I apologize in advanced.