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Complex Texture
I hear the sound of crumbling bone
The vultures breath is warm however laboured
It's thoughts are tunnelled... savage.
Feinding, forlorn and floating.
The blurring smell of blood and innocence,
A blinding sense of disorder.
Who knows better the sensation of nature?
Not I,
For I am ecstatically preoccupied.
Style / type:
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage:
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.
Comments
wesley snow
Sat, 2015-01-03 13:03
Very original.
It caught my attention. Sad to see this as your only post over so many years. I hope you post again.
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Bosscombat
Sun, 2015-01-04 06:46
Hey,
Hey,
Thanks for your feedback Mr Snow,
I unpublished all my older poems.
Look forward to hearing from you again.
themoonman
Sat, 2015-01-03 16:15
Oh shit
Read this one out loud, everybody ...
thanks for posting and wowing my afternoon,
good to see ya,
Richard
Bosscombat
Sun, 2015-01-04 06:48
Hello again Richard
Hello again Richard
Glad it could make a difference to your afternoon.
Look forward to hearing more from you as well.
Esker
Sat, 2015-01-03 22:50
sounds like the ol family picnic
beer an coolaid with a bucket of chicken
hyenas
at least with wings one can wing off with morsels
or this could be the news at night..
my peanut butter and jam
gotta fuel up in case something
comes up at night.
drop the bomb
etc
one eye on the horizon..
Great Poem!
Bosscombat
Sun, 2015-01-04 06:49
Hey Esker
Hey Esker
What's beer and kool aid taste like?
Look forward to hearing from you again as well!