Followers

Monday, December 13, 2010

unnamed

"purposeful",
never stood a chance
-it's not enough
to coalesce-

only whispers gather here.
their arms, long and brittle
as fragile as the night air
-hushed- around a lustful breath.

wishes and prayers
parch and bleed
where delicacy and depth
circle the fire

reaching out for each other-
and turning to ash
for unremittence
discovered in the cusp

of hands
held from lips
to ears, and eyes
not found.

1 comment:

ZACH HAMILTON said...

Nice poem it really pulls you through the thread of a hidden place.
Cool.