The Lake
Sterling white
Timid browns
The lakes are like putty
And I don't write poems like this anymore
Trusting in nothing
The nothing of the lake
Rippling waves
Wakening grooves
The lake does not move
Unless the sun calls it
The moon pulls it
Or the clouds fill it
Or man needs it
The lake is the river
Is the land, is the living
Sterling white
It catches mens' eyes.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2008
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