Standing army
By lenchenelf
Wed, 31 Mar 2010
- 1938 reads
5 comments
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.
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Comments
Really, really beautiful
Permalink Submitted by MistakenMagic on
Really, really beautiful poem! Each image is perfectly placed and the whole poem flows so well - well done!
Magic xxx
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Beautifully written. I can
Beautifully written. I can see the images perfectly, so clear and real. Excellent job!
Pyromaniac on the loose!
Pyromaniac on the loose!
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Ha sorry, that's my
Ha sorry, that's my signature
Pyromaniac on the loose!
Pyromaniac on the loose!
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An original take on the
Permalink Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
An original take on the I.P., expertly crafted.
Tina ;-)
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