- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Merry-Go-Round
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The slow months are shackles:
tied to the years' prayer-wheel
we turn our somersaults over
and over again. There is no change
in the melody, a long-drawn note rises
and falls as the days change, the light
alters its intensity; when the cold comes
the sound almost hurts. Summer
is best, the lukewarm days most
bearable. Rain makes the rotations creak
and burn in bones gone raw
at the joints, and the winds moan,
"Get off! Get off!" Quitting would be
death, though. Condemned to complete
our span's gyrations we'll just have to
hold on fast, till our time's up.
- COMMENTS
DawnJover 11 years agoPersonally, I prefer the raininess of autumn! :) Nice poem, my friend!
tazz317over 11 years agoor the donkey turning the mill. Both are doomed, TK U MLJ LV NV
