No white light in the eventual
This this this
is the end
of the path
It led to a grey stone house
An old woman
blind, deaf, (dumb)
Living inside staring
From the dusty windows into
Our souls
And she whispers
Things we cannot decipher
(This is a wasted piece of space. No purpose did
it serve
unless a somewhat rectified ego should justify it. Write nothing.)
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Kandeva posted on Aug 06, 2006
| views: 225
Comments
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hunter_boyce_chandler said on Aug 06, 2006....
I stand and watch under wet cyprus shade bathed in rain spanish moss my shield can i be seen in here? my fingers toil over under back and forth a blade slashing I practice she will suffer can I not be seen? This work is brutal it calls to completion her crimes unspeakable the children she has slain will this night end her feast? -
Kandeva said on Aug 06, 2006....
Wonderful! The poem itself is subtly violent, and the form takes on the image of something sharp. Very clever. Are you familiar with George Herbert? At any rate, I think a poem like this deserves the same title as provided in the subject. Thanks for sharing! -
hunter_boyce_chandler said on Aug 06, 2006....
This one was for you Kandeva. Yes I have experienced Herbert and feel his skill was wasted on the anglican church. -
Kandeva said on Aug 07, 2006....
I'm sorry to hear that.