I scalp the ridge which sustains my existence
And gauge the cushioned rose from it's root,
Antediluvian nails in death's suspense
Whom floods with darkness eternal loot
In stuccoed succour of a pine's sustenance,
Digging up rusty soil which heats and clogs to soot
These stumps I amble on as I un-earth each sense —
And once familiar, animations of the Soul
To a knotted pole, where the winds swallow an empty bowl;
I scalp the ridge which sustains my existence
And gauge the cushioned rose from it's root.
Comments2
hello,
the repetition of the first two lines really made an impact at the end of the poem...very well done!
always, Cat
And still we amble on.....
I do like your poem. Thank you.
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