Friday, August 20, 2010

No Season Like This

My flesh wound bleeds profusely
and I call the sun a malignant thing...

Truly, desperation has gripped his soul
Yet, it was he who grabbed its black wings
and drove down to the sea's violent foam
while the dove soared over his head
in ecstasy with the wind.

Awaiting the ebbing of the tide, he caught a glint of sunlight on the mudbank
and he knew he was there.


zonedin said...

I've read this a few times and it fascinates me! Seems like an incredible journey!

rivercat said...

thanks, yes its a lot packed together tightly. the first two lines having fun with words to set the tone,then an explanation of the mental state and recognition of awareness during reflection after the event ...

Vinda Sonata said...

beautiful! this is my first time here and must say that you're a very talented poet.
i want to see more of your works!!

rivercat said...

Hi Vinda,
That's the most generous compliment Ive ever gotten, so thanks!
I've been writing poetry for about 7 months mainly because I was sick and was not able to really live my normal life. Now im healthy again but I still feel like writing sometimes. All I have is what's in this blog.

Thanks so much for visiting and for the kindhearted words about my poem :)