A Sense of Time

A Poem

Published on January 18, 2005 By TaBoo Tenente In Writing

A Sense of Time

A strange sun follows me where I go
trying pale white water paint
to pretend colors I cannot believe:
a pale blue mountain side
becomes a thin, pale sea.

I am in the forest underneath the trees
where the rivers run
under a lazy, speckled sun
running through river bells
to a moonlit, soundless sea.

Tossed far into the running winds
my way of life passed into dreams:
should one death hang me so?
I hang, dripping from the sky
into the tremendous wealth
and inevitability

of the sea.

Copyright ©2004, ©2005, ©2006 Joshua Suchman. All rights reserved.
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Comments

on Jan 20, 2005

same old writing, circles huh?youll die in them some day. Keep writing josh

on Jan 20, 2005

same old writing, circles huh?youll die in them some day. Keep writing josh

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