a ball as
thin as glass
rose up
from water deep
out of
forgetful sleep
stirred by
a skin of brass
the rising
ball that I see
is the
world that was
reflecting
in the glass
a little
boy that is me
as the ball
slowly fades
the sun
touches my face
until the
dancing rays
leave the
world in shades
A statue
stands tall
The brass
shining no more
and the
memory of before
is a leaf
in the fall
Auteur: Tim Tienes | ||
Gecontroleerd door: | ||
Gepubliceerd op: 05 december 2009 | ||
Thema's: |