A dozen dead roses
black like crimson sand
on a thousand beaches

The color of clay
pottery makes,
screaming for touch

Finding solitude in
hidden pleasures
waiting for arrival

Flying to foreign
with abandon meets
needs of wanting

Like trees of giants
and fields of wheat
yellow with sun

Rays holding caress
of your silk stream
moves through jade

Feeling static build
while empires meet
their gloomy demise.

01/23/2010

Posted on 02/06/2010
Copyright © 2025 Michael Defries