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Abstract Thought
April 26, 2017
Memories husks of decaying fruit that limply hang
Writhing and gnashing in solemn serendipity
Oh was has been, oh what once is
Oh if fruits could pluck with tender trance along the frigid summit
With fingers raw and skin-shaven by myriads of stoic millennia
Soft sun with rays so feathery and crisp
Upon this sovereign spill of rock I rest
Peaceful protest to iron fists of fate
One day you'll see me spin like eagle wings unto that orange fire
Risingwith boastful belligerence into the viscous night air
Someday I'll be free
© Annie P., Milford, CT
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Sometimes my mind wanders into an abstract state of poetic fascination. Emotions and thoughts mesh together in lines and rythms. It helps to write it down.