bones where our fathers sleep
forgotten beneath the stairs,
theater of the virgin daughter has begun
left the abyss
rode naked beneath a harvest sky,
flowers once cast upon the river
caught by rising fishes
their illiterate world
tensed and sure,
this has to be the darkest season
of blood not drawn by knife
but fear of the morning hill,
normal day without monsters
forged on sleeping mental despair,
no amount of her is aimless,
violets had been crushed on the lawn
buzzards had become trapped in
rivers sediment,
wrapped in fabric woven with
delusion and anagrams of what
love should of brought,
bands of gold encircle retinas flourish,
she has found a new way
more than chromosomes shared with
other mammals,
she raises a visible alarm,
society dissected under assured touch
and found the moon wanting,
no more to be buried side by side
eternal would be joy and dance,
then we sleep
I see a lot of meaning in this, but will be too timid to interpret. But am in awe of your use of words and descriptions. Thanks!
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Thank you … smiles
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I’m puzzled by this piece. At first I though of soldiers, then my mind wandered to the depths of the ocean…a quandary indeed.
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if you see and feel different things then i am glad as i like everyone’s experience to be different
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This has a feel of the mythic and almost surreal reality that touches truth. Then we sleep.
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Thanks Victoria there is so much about the human experience that i love exploring
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intense imagery, shifting on and on…nice progression in them though…no amount of her is aimless…i like that line…like the gold bands around the eyes as well…
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Thanks Brian always a pleasure to see you here
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