Low Bed

Nov 05, 2008 12:51


I fell victim to the warring winters
My soul foolishly plucked from my body
and perched atop the bough of 
a ripened pear tree

The bold faced moon bares no pity for me,
but trails near at my back as if 
pulled by a string

Once a humble spark in a world on fire,
should my fate fall to an unwelcoming earth,
nestled in a low bed

Or should the smoke curl and dance to the heavens
where watery halos lay suspended 
among stars

poetry, low bed

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