Gills and Palms
I. Gills
The tide of hatred never ebbs;
The isle surrounded sinks and drowns;
While we, the natives, scale the trees
As Gills emerge upon our faces,
Gaping—like fresh, opened wounds.
II. Palms
The floor of faith shall never shift;
The sea above shall soon be calmed;
From islands covered, yet undrowned,
Long trees vault upward to the surface,
Cradling us on outstretched Palms.
Copyright © Garth Von Buchholz | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment