ahsiam
09-11-2011, 01:06 PM
Windows are framed by silent September,
where the dry leaves awaits to be wet-
by tomorrow’s dew.
She stepped on the soaked sand-
a sightless touch of cold-
So wanted, so unborn.
Progressing on the stairs fails-
leaving each step a memory
in an obscure silence.
A seventh sense being theoremed -
Who knew the urgency of creation?
the profanity of having wintered mind,
where acceptance of certainty seemed impossible?
Crimson blood clotting in the straight line
Who cut the hand?
You or the sharp edge of your knife?
Where was the hidden pain?
In the creation of the scar in the hand
Or in being created?
where the dry leaves awaits to be wet-
by tomorrow’s dew.
She stepped on the soaked sand-
a sightless touch of cold-
So wanted, so unborn.
Progressing on the stairs fails-
leaving each step a memory
in an obscure silence.
A seventh sense being theoremed -
Who knew the urgency of creation?
the profanity of having wintered mind,
where acceptance of certainty seemed impossible?
Crimson blood clotting in the straight line
Who cut the hand?
You or the sharp edge of your knife?
Where was the hidden pain?
In the creation of the scar in the hand
Or in being created?