Last Moments Last
Edges of stones cut through my fear;
I press my fingers harder down;
I hear
them shaking...no, I hear it coming.
Wind is kissing and stroking my hair;
Iron feels cold against my nape;
I dare
look, and - there, I see it coming.
Up in the cavern of heaven my bell
Tolls louder than the screaming horn.
I smell
grass and petrol; I smell it coming.
Crumble to pieces my nerves of steel,
as its wheels screech against metal,
I feel
it coming through me, cutting.
I absolutely LOVE your structure here, balance of rhyme and wordflow. Stunning.
ОтветитьУдалитьYour recent comment on my poem over at Poetic Asides left me absolutely breathless. THANK YOU.
De Jackson (WhimsyGizmo)
That's your poem that left me breathless. I'm actually quite surprised you traced me all the way down here.))
ОтветитьУдалитьJust clicked your name, and came over for a visit. ;)
ОтветитьУдалитьGonna stay awhile.