The Memory of Skulls On a Hill
The air-ward climb –
On the weaver’s hill:
Ozone-layered: across
The delight of new eggs;
Soft – in my intent, brief!
Transitory; leaping
From side to brighter side;
The non-conceived patterns
Growing in frequencies
By our sea-storms and dead deluge:
Are they brief?
Are they intent?
These cata-combs of broken skulls!
Are they the import of our essence?
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.
