to where the seven horses run
seven sides of shelter from the spark
running, mullen-mouthed with tempers flared
crossing green apostles
to the green side of a metamorphic rock.
pythagorean rolls
it's third rack to the sun
from moon to ghost or predator
it has run it's seven cycles like a cat
and only purrs when the buzzards hunt for sex.
all seven fences break the mould of pith
it is orange. it is white. it is dry.
high on speed with tablets on their tongues
casting shadows on the eyebrows of the lame.
they are not tame, these lords we answer to;
they are the number ten
the number of the beast!
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 22nd, 2024 11:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
Offline)
Comments3
lol just brilliantly executed, I cannot help but think of the number of the devil, but your title is phenominal and yes wild horses also relatable in my life. Melvin, I'm at the sea I'm really well but every time I read a line of Sylvia it simply sends my muse I to overdrive. Thank you. 🌹
thank you Teddy.....
a touch of humour, almost.
She has the same effect on me.
constantly on youtube listening to her read her words.
even her voice astounds me!
no sea today, it's summer...and the flood gates have opened.
heavy rain!
so, back to my poetry.
Love it
many thanks Tony.
very much appreciated.
You're welcome
Tremendous work. Powerful imagery.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.