Signs of hammers bouncing off the plate,
The scattered pieces levitate and dance
Towards Mosaic Sky, to have a core
Of grounded roots, away from shifted lies.
They prance until the morning dew awakes
Upon the cultured grass, to wash away
Last night's disguise, connecting into a lake,
Avoiding sprays and spills of daffodils.
The rays beat down on neglected life
To squeeze the source out, until devoid
Of any song, to leave a withered frame,
To crumble into ashes—a pile of vanity.
There a fire awakens, bursts into
A cry, it breaks the silence into the sky.
wow i think this is pretty tight
ReplyDeletethe imagery is really good
natural poet debs