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Hayswood Park. 30 juillet 2005
by Lacy D Phillips
I would say my heart is on fire,
but these good words freeze on my lips.
My breath is only the cold wind of self-pity.
I feel expansive, though I shrink within myself;
and I starve for all the salt of the world
and the shrill vinegar of experience.
These moments of contemplation
carve themselves into the dense undergrowth of my thoughts
as the wind stirs the fields as far as eyes can discern.
I am coarse grain yet to be refined by the stone of independence.
I am weak tea diluted by these ruminations
requiring only the fire of requite
to boil me down to something fit for consumption.
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07/30/2005 Author's Note: Sounds a lot less trite in French. If you can excuse the utter sap of the first few lines (which, incidently, were written in French first and translated to English - unlike the later lines, which were English to French) it\'s actually not as bad as it seems.
Posted on 07/31/2005
Copyright © 2026 Lacy D Phillips
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Paul Marino on 09/20/05 at 10:16 PM oh my, this was amazing. really, like this is something i would get excited about if i just found it in a poetry book. it's one of those poems that puts that good feeling in my stomach, that poetic butterfly. |
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