Silent autumn’s hands are winding,
Curling up others in another sleep –
Sweep me a pyre, statuesque.
Winds come and merge from all four corners,
Finally they meet undanced as yet.
Crisped bronzed fires are set ablaze,
Browned slaves are tossed and cast adrift –
Swept but sculpted, arabesque.
All of the fallen, recipient mourners,
Are deftly ushered, to their kismet.
by *paige six
... from a silent space
The Broken Cannot Rise Alone...
A Repository of Discarded Poetry, Story Prompts, and Memories
Barcelona's Multiverse | Art | Culture | Science
Pain goes in, love comes out.
poetry w/teeth
Just wondering at the miracle called LIFE .
Author River Dixon
poetry by Robert Ford
Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.
In the end all you want is a pen that writes well and a life that you've lived well.
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I am more than breath & bones.
My poetry is my religion.
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Just another WordPress.com site
At Least Trying Too
Poetry by Mich
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
MarkovichUniverse AT gmail DOT com
Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.
As it Comes 