Mythe

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Tzara
Tzara
33 Followers

From deep in the sacred stream of sleep
I am raised awake
by the song of noisy birds.

I had been happy, dead
to touch and scent
in a field of white flowers,

but the insistent earth
sprouts vines from its damp soil
to entwine my limbs,

wash me in the fragrance
of honeysuckle and jasmine, until
I own no slumbered sense,

but walk and laugh and roll
in the lush greenery of Persephone's rich fields,
unwary of my necessary Fall.


Tzara
Tzara
33 Followers
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2 Comments
WickedEveWickedEveover 15 years ago
~

No great comment, but want to say that I read your poem and it's good. You're always good. Write more!

AnonymousAnonymousover 15 years ago
What a view

Great scene. Tz, I've always dug your poems, you create some very vivid images.

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