|
The Bull
by Johnny CrimsonI ate the stardust once,
choked down
a mile of prarie field particles
to get closer to the truth.
There were cloaked figures
standing still
in the doorway of my mind,
voiding all reality checks I'd written.
The spotted monster spoke
in tongues
not too difficult to decipher,
not for a spotted monster myself.
The baby cried true,
broken I
stand at the edge of his crib,
my heart somewhere beneath his soul.
Helpless to reason,
we are,
as the moon fast forwards time,
so it can shove me off to work.
The horse's stable is busy
all hours,
yet we can't lasso this crutch,
and I think this baby will be the death of us.
05/28/2013
Author's Note: #Newborns
Posted on 05/28/2013
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 05/28/13 at 08:55 PM Reign, rein, rain--life & death and the cloud that floats between them--you just gave life to the cloud... |
| Posted by Bertram Sparagmos on 05/31/13 at 10:15 PM Not all things need to be grasped in the finite. Hearts will always toil somewhere beneath the souls they have helped create. I like it. |
| Posted by Steve Michaels on 06/04/13 at 01:13 PM The baby cried true,
broken I
stand at the edge of his crib,
my heart somewhere beneath his soul.
Wow!
|
|
