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.
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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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