To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Of What Friendship Is Made... This woman was shot from wings made of clay, yet still she flies with wordfull oratory. She stands by neither victim or prey, her words speak of bravery, a silence that her mouth never utters. But I read between the lines to find the place tulips were planted and where honeydew melons wrestle in the sea. She is not unlike a farmer, her word seeds pressed to her bosom and tilling the soil with sweat soaked passion. I can believe I claim to know her from other distant lands where pharaohs roamed and Jews were meant to die. And perhaps then too, she gave me loving cup of water, so parched my thirst with ridicule. She looked at me with eyes, so wide and wounded, knowing my despair, praying for my joy, and musing with the muses. |
Additional Notes:
submission permission lgj
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!