PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It comes rolling out 
from the trees, a sliced moon 
inside out, undressing. Pain 
quietly walks away. 
I wash out my battered dreams. 
A spiritual rain drenches 
the mind. A shaft of blue light 
provokes to inherit the sky. 
I hear the music, what is not there. 

Anonymous creation, 
unnamed, unsung, I am waiting 
for a human touch. 
I know we have killed all 
the manners. Men are becoming roads, 
disappearing in landslides. 
In names we dedicate 
our customs of beautiful past. 


Note book narrates but 
nobody writes on the wall. 
Someone scatters the virgin 
seeds like unspoken secrets. 
A scream becomes a custom, 
mining the unknown. 
We will gather the wings 
of fallen birds and portray 
a non-being on the mirror.