It's 3:00 P.M.
the land is now in spring, where
beautiful flowers and wild tares
grow, side by side; it’s 3:00 p.m.
when my spirits stopped
wandering…and listens to the echoes
of immortalities
as the passing wind sighs
between the past and the future
between the heaven and the earth
thou, I was not there, when
the land
spilled out and died, ‘cos of hatred
and greediness
and self ambition; but
i am here, right now
lying, silently, with a cul-de-sac
as my pillow, on this grassy field
thanking them…and thinking…
what life would be, without them---
the fallen whisperers, who gave themselves
for us, to breathe this afternoon air?
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
