Sunday, September 19, 2010
Perched at the porch,
rusty smelly palms,
feeling the thrill,
my stomach churning on.
I'm off now but its following still,
What enchanting flow, what a soulful swing.
Beads of sweat, hair smelling sweet,
I stare at my palm, beginning to itch.
My vision moves to the feet,
Muddy,filthy content and free.
The grass below is dancing underneath,
In Chorus with the swing's Retreat.
while after when still,
the creaking sound wont pester in,
When the sparrow arrives at the suns consent,
perches on you, my mind is upset!
Its time for me to set the tables,
I want to reach high,
fly, believe with you,
stretch one palm out and feel the golden air.
Make breeze with spring in my feet and laughter in my hair.
But from the window I admire you stance.
Swing..... rusted, old
You hold memoirs of my childhood and more.
Posted by devangini at 8:50 PM