Give me a dusty pencil, I beg you
and black rocks from the bottom of the sea
and a night to sit and ponder
the song that trails on the tip of the wind
a tribute to the truth and the troubled
this is a song for our fathers
a melody born in the hallways
of simple folk and simple kings
fishing nets placed around their necks
never filled, but never quite empty
lost trails and something a bit more complex
lives painted and processed again and again
this is a song for the snapshots of the past
and the ripples reaching for the future
written in fables and fragile moments
whispered from the tips of our tongues
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2 comments:
A well-constructed piece of poetry. I thought the second stanza was particularly well-done.
i really enjoyed reading this piece. i should be spending more time here actually. your poems are so easy to read and equally easy to enjoy and to adore.
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