Not-Iced
sentenced to hell at the age of birth
and living within the living well
the urn of fortune casts the wheel
and stones test me hub pin
the frozen frustration, the liquid fire
ignites the lift, into the light, and sets
the gong of fortunes keening,
at a wicked glance.
eyes, i senses your grapid beauty
the column ant that endless be
the insisted insistance that closed the gap
and widened the meaning of buttress
thought i saw, a space of grace
in you
thought that lonely plane of war
was you
thought the gott-ya, before the
answer, got the better of ri
and the frozen, bones, of hallowed, grave
soulfulled inside the rivers maeve,
and gladness, tried a few steps, upon
the thin ice.
Copyright © Birrell Garnett | Year Posted 2006
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