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The ballad of a windy Spring
Oh wind with your mighty fists,
who speaks of frozenness;
who sleeps inside her throat,
the singer's voice melts the iron
inside my bones,
melts it into a river of faces,
long ago.
Oh wind who whispers broken syllables
through young-green leaves,
weaving at unseen stars:
poets of the past, hanging bright
in their next season;
a slow waltz inside a galactic dream,
or perhaps a plot of demons.
Oh wind who moves graciously
inside tulip's hungry mouths;
whose blood did they drink,
to obtain their reddish colours?
What fires ignite your pen, what inks
drop from your loomy tongue?
Style / type:
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words:
A repost.
Editing stage:
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Comments
Nevel
Fri, 2011-06-10 20:20
hmmm, you might be right
hmmm, you might be right about the last two lines, plural is better.
Thank you for your comment, Ian
greetings,
Erwin
Nevel
Fri, 2011-06-10 20:23
lol, maybe more people will
lol, maybe more people will discover their "inner poet"!
Erwin
scribbler
Sat, 2011-06-11 09:32
hi Nevel
I really enjoyed reading this.Stanza 2 is in my opinion not just the heart but the soul of this poem. !st stanza is a bit unclear in message to me, but I'm sure you will "fix" it better than I could...............scribbler PS almost forgot to say I really loved the imagery