Friday, January 31, 2014

Short Story Slam on Poem Format

In a dark time, the eyes begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shades,
I hear my echo in the echoing wood---
A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
I live between the heron and the wren,
Because of the hill and serpents of the den.
What's madness but nobility of soul,
At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire?
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks--is it a cave
or winding path? The edge is what I have!