Friday, January 31, 2014


My friend could shake the earth
his life was a raging tribute

his throne of drums, his bellow through the wires
his infrequent collisions with the sky

age hit him hard, he was a wanderer
in bright places he fell, burned up by common things

we could see him flailing with cumulus
when all was falsely intact

his movement printed earth with arrows
to all that strives burning

1 comment:

raw poetry by donna snyder said...

I identify with this poem very much. You capture succinctly the dilemma of those of us who are not going gently into that good night. Thank you.