Forever where is nowhere near
And dark snow hides in the tundra,
Where, ghostly bodies whisper in winds,
The sun sits like a cuckolded spouse
And the dead moon wanes to wax again,
While, being bled to life in a cold field,
Girls file out in black gowns like odd swans,
To drown in sackcloth and sorrow
As the birds descend to pick and pull
And the last rites sung for tomorrow.
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Comments: 18
You've provided a scene of barren cold. Vast tundra with cold mist lifting to both a sun and moon pictured frozen against a transluscent sky. Only Picasso could put that vision on canvas. But you've duplicated it in words.
And down the middle path, all dressed in black, the Sisters of St. Nowhere, innocent brides of life.
Ambiance and conversation. Scones with jam and anticipation!
Just an old lady gabbing away.
The second line of your poem would make Frost proud. I loved it.
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
I like your work Terry, always. It allows even more appreciation for the joy in my life.
I just absolutely love this.
And the dead moon wanes to wax again,
While, being bled to life in a cold field,
Girls file out in black gowns like odd swans,
To drown in sackcloth and sorrow
As the birds descend to pick and pull
And the last rites sung for tomorrow.
this is beauty.