The Passing
Through pink glasses aiming Northward
Arctic lights and arrows quiver
The city life drags the final sword
As a sugar shack lilts with the river
The bow is his selenite
Mantra to foe, making them shudder
The amulet is his kryptonite
A tiller man now with no rudder
Longer boats to take him away await
Tacking slowly to avoid live minds
Leave a trail of very odd gait
Lowering his remains below water lines
Copyright © Alan Reed | Year Posted 2010
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