The Unbegun
The unbegun poem
is a tree root,
clinging to a whirlwind.
A stag hides,
in a thicket of hunters.
Nothing speaks,
where memory leaves no footprint.
The buried must uncover
a spade.
Grubs must sing with angels,
both are needed,
to denude the already naked.
In time,
if you give time freely away,
as if to a homeless hermit crab,
the unbegun will arrive,
in the jumbled wardrobe of mind,
seeking to be dressed
in any garments you have
previously rescued
from a dust storm.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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