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My Dead

My dead voice-- a mockery
Of all that see

A clear vision-- That strides
Above the green sea foam

The muted eye-- an inward glance
That hides among the black roots of forbearence

Disclose arterial reality-- Cains left hand
Lifts the ocean from its smoking earthen cradle

And amasses secret lies-- below the tidal
Weathers embrace

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"that hide amongst the black forebearance"
just my working this poem..

I like the style much
archaic and spell likeness

Thank You!

I have heard the word "archaic" before to describe my work, and consider it a compliment. This poem came to me after reading Dylan Thomas.

author comment

He reading his christmas works...and I declined
the liqour store was right there...
a single dollar...
I was saddened when I read of how he died in New York
such a talent...Morrison arrives in Paris to debauchery and
Heroin and Thomas to New York and its boisterous all
nighter salvations and situations....
ah well.....

U Tube gives me what I missed..But I had the Album
he in his vest and simple shirt...from the late fifties
early sixties..Im guessing at this

But I loved his style....
Archaic is a compliment
I believe that the old does indeed have its place
here..and that the youth also have the unset vision
to form a bridge across the ordinary unsettling gap
that the aged would not dare to fathom...

Thank You!

I liked your write and in your reply you said that it was written after reading Dylan Thomas's works or part of.
As usual a life cut short and at 39 you just have to ask WHY???
Did the sheer strength of his works make it impossible to go further, it happens many times in this world of ours, Mario Lanza had a beautiful voice and he too left at 39.
Do these people burn out or what, I look forward to you other pieces, Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

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