Death (a magnetic poem)

weak boy
incubate egg
after urge

pound, pant, heave, spray
smear white sun
blood aparatus

produce symphony of wind
mean storm and sordid mist
the moon, our rose, these dreams

but can they
trudge behind red will
as thousands sleep and moan?

rip, swim, soar
lake of easy singing
show purple place

yet above delerious moment
with bitterness
he is gone.

-trinity
January 1999

Click on "back" for more poems.
To share your poem, send email.

"Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be."
- Grandma Moses