Sunday, January 30, 2011
On 9:26 PM by Rebekah Tracy in Poem No comments
By the colored scales of the dying albatross
The rain shall burn the cities
The stars shall turn to red
The hate of every man will scorch the very ground
By the broken mast of the prince’s domain
They shall cook the dove in empty pots
They shall tie the bonds to their own hands
All shall be buried together in one great mound
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Search
Popular Posts
-
--- You should have seen my Mom’s face when she came home from the Christmas party. The kitchen counter was completely cleared off, every...
-
I have written my own eulogy, to save people the trouble when I die. The problem is that I have to rewrite it every year or so to compe...
-
To the ends of the earth Till the last man is dead Till our heroes are buried And our skies crimson red We will raise our last fl...
-
An old man with a wrinkled face and large dark glasses sat reading the midday paper. He was late today, the sun had already set long ago, b...
-
It was like a candle. One tiny light lost in a shadow of black forever long. Slowly, slowly, flickering away. Perhaps it was a star. One ...
Blog Archive
Followers
© Rebekah Tracy. Powered by Blogger.
0 comments:
Post a Comment