We can't explain the truth of things
and neither can we set our sights on anything real.
Something called faith, called freedom, called standing on
a ledge watching the drowsing city of generations' dreams, silent in
golden light -
and the way it fades away from you as the door
closes, never to open again but rather
to be blown from its hinges and ripped to wooden shreds.
Yes. We're all going to try to be very good.
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I love the structure of this poem, with the italicized lines opening and closing it. The rhythm of the first 4 lines is great. Thank you for sharing!
ReplyDeletehttp://bsquared86.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-life-would-suck-wo-you-napowrimo-pc.html
This is a beautifully written poem! I really like the rhythm you set with it. It's another one of those "HEAR me" poems.
ReplyDeletehttp://lori102870.blogspot.com/2009/04/had-it-been-snake-it-wouldve-bitten.html
Thank you both! I didn't "think" too much for this poem - I just let my thoughts go where they would, and now that I look at it, I have a feeling it may be talking about more than war...
ReplyDeleteThanks again for reading :)