|
Part. III. In the Eye of the Needle
by Uriel TovarThe lilac draped sky
hangs over
like some lenten pall
holding the body fresh for forty days
in this blasted desert.
The sand seems neither hot nor
cold--
there is no sun or moon
to temper it--
but my phantom hands can't
grasp those fleeting sensations
any longer.
This glass-like body thirsts for a fragrant voice
to echo through these lightly
tinted bones, left
trapped inbetween a closed door and open world.
That tree in the distance
is crystalized and left unchanged by
the amount i have tread but
stopping would mean no change and a grain
of hope would be better than those that my feet are
cut by
or have i stopped already?
12/08/2005 Posted on 12/09/2005
Copyright © 2024 Uriel Tovar
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/09/12 at 05:55 PM This is definitely my favorite of this series of 3. I like the words chosen here very much, the floating feeling I get and especially this phrase - "left
trapped in between a closed door and open world." Also loved the "fragrant voice" and how the sand seems to connect to the glass-like body and this phrase - "and a grain
of hope would be better than those that my feet are
cut by". Thanks for this. |
| 
