Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Aug 2016 Taylor Roberts
mw
Tree
 Aug 2016 Taylor Roberts
mw
(i think that) it is poetic injustice -
that (to be fruitful) seeds fall away from their kin, (children),
(are) carried away in the guts of fauna,
(rooted in) soil far from (their parentage)
and told, "grow".
My demons convinced me
We'd grow happy and old together
There's still time and hope
But you're already so happy
And I think my demons
**** at telling fortunes
There in the air, it hung, muted yet palpable,
like the  inebriating scent of new rain on earth
with this signal morning alluded something,
as if challenging anyone there to swiftly respond.

Gazing at the far away mountains, waking up,
pulling away slowly the blanket of darkness
a purple sun above making a symphony of colors
she is caught in the waves of the mood, it's cadence
captures the spirit in a poem; it blooms on it's own.

Zestfully she reads it in her resounding voice,as if
to the chickens clucking around in the cluttered barn
there wasn't any audience other than the birds and the cattle;
a sudden change the chickens,strange, till the moment before
they were looking for a worm or two in the black earth.

As if forgotten all other things the chicken stood
their head held high, beaks open as if to peck
in an attentive posture, they stood listening to her,
the moment they got the tune right,started reciting it.

The cows in the shed  turned to the direction of her voice,
as if it's a song, and it's for them she was singing .
 Dec 2015 Taylor Roberts
M
Tell me your secrets as you weave your fingers between my thighs
Teach me your history as your eyes knock down my mind
Tell my why while we both get high

Please let me into your world as you tell me I complete it
Please let me win you over as you coach me; tell me more as you tell me "more"
Let's close our eyes like we always do, this time opening our minds and allowing ourselves to see
I can't catch feels; too late.
Next page