Speaks to me.
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
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4 comments:
Okay what is going on in your head right now?? Or rather what was going on in your head at the time you posted this.
You'll have to figure that out yourself. That's half the fun of poetry.
This is the kinda poem that you listen to Barber's Adagio for Strings to while sitting in an oversized poofy chair in the dark looking out the window at the cloud darkened, rain drenched world.
Exactly! Wow Kyo, you're description was spot on.
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