JBI
03-25-2008, 02:55 PM
The room is daffodil where I sit
But my pen is a shrivelling rose,
Over-clutched by my fervent
Paws, as I swish it through the iris
Pools – the unknowing knowledge –
The vain attempt at drinking
What has been carelessly smeared,
I seek – trying to fan back
The crying harps anemoned
Dawn - the feared drained pond,
Where carnations used to grow,
But nothing fills the room,
...........Except the fumes
Of daffodils, growing out of
The ashes of too-hastily singed,
Innocently naive daisies.
Jonathan Ben-Israel
But my pen is a shrivelling rose,
Over-clutched by my fervent
Paws, as I swish it through the iris
Pools – the unknowing knowledge –
The vain attempt at drinking
What has been carelessly smeared,
I seek – trying to fan back
The crying harps anemoned
Dawn - the feared drained pond,
Where carnations used to grow,
But nothing fills the room,
...........Except the fumes
Of daffodils, growing out of
The ashes of too-hastily singed,
Innocently naive daisies.
Jonathan Ben-Israel