"pioson" poems
Loneliness, a venomous dispair, runs through your viens. It slowly rips you apart. You dont notice until the last drop reaches your fast pounding heart.You then realize what has happened. A gracious rose cuts you with its thorns,a single drop of blood falls, you are saved as the slow moving pioson leaves your body. A single flower has saved your life, and the vile of depression is burried deep within its grave.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
The scraggley mountains in the distance
look like soft sleeping boddies
made round and soft
covered and swaddled
in an icy blanket of aproaching fog.
An emerald and ruby star hangs in the distance
reminicent of some **** covered nativity scene
with mules kicking
and a woman screaming
and piles of hay rotting into the shape of beds
and a fool man welcoming an immaculate carpenter
and a woman smug in deciet
as she pushes out into a pile of muddy grain
and rat ****
A sheet of rain falls sidesways in the distance
storm front drawing a visible line in the sky
the rain sounds like a waterfall
eating away at the concrete slowly over time
with icy crystal gums
as soft and deadly
as a sleeping bear
or a politicians words.
These things form the viege memories of a season.
Along with wood stoves,
the sticky smell of pitch,
hearty soup,
old musty books,
warm muddy boots,
and hot strong drinks.
Warming pioson to the core.
Winter sickness in the town where rain makes a grey christmas.
Every.
*******
Year.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC