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Drops of Sky by zephirefaith, literature
Literature
Drops of Sky
I am roused by the smell
The sound of thousand little drops
Pit-pattering on the pavement
They beckon for me to come out
And stand amidst them
A part of their elaborate dance
I rush outside to watch
As the sky comes down
In million fragments, all alike
They are the million sons
Of sky and the cloud
Shy of sunshine, the daughter of sun
I wonder if there are new arrivals
They feel the same as they did all those years ago
Wet in touch, wet in taste, washing me away
Are they like me?
New in every moment but essentially the same
Varying emotions, varying sizes but never a ghost, always me
Indeed there is a kinship
As I rise from the ground i
for frost: we need not live in vigil by nawkaman, literature
Literature
for frost: we need not live in vigil
we don't have to split a fork
in two (or ten or six); may then diverge
our Paths along the path
not finite, un-impossible? you
may have rule and road, miles and
morass,
sir. the Hoarfrost gathers great
on you, like winter on the words
you forged from wood and wakeful spurs
(unsleeping, temporal
remainders); like ornaments
that decorate dull
in any other season.
you are boxed and labeled, kept
in the murky & foreclosed adjunct space
that borders the heart but never enters
a tease of a tease to touch
the lives of those who happen by
your 'verse.
i've left minds more open and
know travels- even in the way
everyone travels- that will carry me
