Broken languages disappear;
Last summer’s echo aches of beauty;
Wildflowers wail! The cacophony cracks a sense of duty.
Screams are breaking through the surface each year;
Indian paintbrush lingered nearby.
Grey clouds are gathering on the horizon;
May's misty showers have sighed;
O’er old fields that haunt slaughtered bison;
Springtime fantasies burst from reality.
Summer reflects the rising blossom’s duality.
Death's dirge awakens from sleepy repose!
Dreams painted over old photography;
Images stunned with dark calligraphy.
Seasons heeded the rising of the wild rose!
More at http://unpoetics.squarespace.com
2006-11-21
07:17:43
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7 answers
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asked by
Desert Sienna
4
in
Entertainment & Music
➔ Other - Entertainment