I drown in memory; amniotic
flood waters, birth, rebirth.
Four call me, Mother. Eddies
swirled you, my grip held.
Several whisper across time,
tidal circumstance; weathered
coast of womb, crumbling
grotto. Snail shell fist
curled, raised ghosts,
painted within caves
where dreams hold
conversations
we might yet have,
immune to the world.
Comments
MistakenMagic | March 31, 2010 - 21:14
Really, really beautiful poem! Each image is perfectly placed and the whole poem flows so well - well done!
Magic xxx
Averick | March 31, 2010 - 21:41
Beautifully written. I can see the images perfectly, so clear and real. Excellent job!
Pyromaniac on the loose!
Averick | March 31, 2010 - 21:42
Ha sorry, that's my signature
Pyromaniac on the loose!
Silver Spun Sand | April 1, 2010 - 09:41
An original take on the I.P., expertly crafted.
Tina ;-)
lenchenelf | April 1, 2010 - 14:05
Thank you for your very kind comments Magic, Averick and Tina, much appreciated atb Lenax