04-04-2015, 08:58 PM
History Be Damned (For Tom)
You will not whittle away at what is mine,
that is my job.
What was soft and wet, covered
with fine moss that caught each morning's dew
has bared its own gnarly form, its grain
raised and smoothed, raised, smoothed.
You can drop like flies, I am used to still standing.
As sweet milk metaphorizes into a memorable
gorgonzola, I have taken you in; now my adornment,
you run in blue streaks, swirl in patterns I've stolen
without regret or intention of returning.
You may no longer be you, but you are me.
You will not whittle away at what is mine,
that is my job.
What was soft and wet, covered
with fine moss that caught each morning's dew
has bared its own gnarly form, its grain
raised and smoothed, raised, smoothed.
You can drop like flies, I am used to still standing.
As sweet milk metaphorizes into a memorable
gorgonzola, I have taken you in; now my adornment,
you run in blue streaks, swirl in patterns I've stolen
without regret or intention of returning.
You may no longer be you, but you are me.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips