Dreams of Iron
These eyes are looking at me
trying to escape from the claws of pain,
the open hands with the same aim,
but my white hair is all they can see,
and all they can hear is
my soul, saying,
"I want to be with my paper taken from a tree",
and when I am with the latter,
all I say is
"I want to be with my iron dream".
The dream of blood, of iron
is mine... forever
Copyright © Christiana Sciberras | Year Posted 2005
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment