Sunday, September 3, 2017

Child of Ten: Introduction to a series of poems old and new.

The deep depression
Beneath the oaks
Death as a metaphor
In the grip of steel boxes
A life time of words
Bursting forth like seeds
In a garden
Alone in the morning
Listening to the clouds
What will this day become
With the same sense of urgency
The same sense of hush
The Awe of Septembers’ closing ground
The gaping wound that never heals
It just grows deeper
And the soil sinks down
Thirty years now
That space of life
That sculpted mine
Every broad stroke
Every thin line
A reflection in words
He spoke
With a whispered voice
A child of ten
Speaks even now
Thousands of words
A tapestry of lines
And shapes
And I have a child
That carries my name
And he will share his words
And  a voice
An echoe in still pond
And he will be my words
My eyes

Long after I’m gone…..

copyright 2017 Artbygordon

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