A Poem From 1966
Days above morning, flying leaves leaving
Out crimson’s crisp echo before the sharp blast.
Out crimson’s crisp echo
I flying leaves leavings, watch days above morning
will sharp winds ride?
In this calm serene
half-a-world away unseen
high and high gasping the highest col raking
in final pierced rays of a cold sun’s begone
on grays of fierce snow crystal
crystal quiet alone
caused shattered collapses of ice-tons descending
is there a noise if no one can hear?
Copyright © Dave Martsolf | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment