I Can'T Believe I Wrote This While the Bare Naked Ladies Were Playing
The sudden sound of talking turns quiet.
In the quiet remains we rumble forward.
Like distant planets, we only experience
Life through impacts and collisions.
There is no higher God than your own voice.
And there is no point to God unless someone else is speaking.
Relax and repair, in your watchfulness,
Like the bristled flower,
The photo in the wind.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2009
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