PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Gossamer sheets caress the air

the thorax lofty high in breezes never felt

So swift and small is their breezy size.



Were I to be as transient as this,

A shadow of a being,

A bubble glass sculpture titled

"What is life?"

At least I could not help but to be honest.

I'd ner be missed by man nor woman

Cuddling their worldly wealth.



To eventually be dashed against a tree in strong wind

or mutilated by an already absolved and simple child

who sees my beauty and as is the whim of man,

wishes it to own and hold for ever and ever,

and so kill from compliment.

Or into the web.

Horrible and malcontent

in it’s liquor potent emptiness.

the threads cutting as winters coldest night

or a broken promise from an honest man.

I would die there,

cold leaf dry,

I suppose.

Endings all hold such in common;

They end things,

and come to all,

and in their seeming indiscretion

are held by none from that

which must be done.