Spilt

 

My sky its blue

I wear its vapour

Cool in scent

A sapphire mask

Of daydreams

Spent in light

With threads of gold

And hazy mellow

My gossamer shield

Pocket held

Secure

And dusted with

A bursting cloud

Sugared coat

Glistening milk

The world can see

My moon burn eyes

A kiss from lunar

Secrets stowed

In flecks of none

That man could name

My earth its soil

With fingers ground

I take its rich

It feeds my poor

And licks the pale

From grasping hands

Their urge to spoil

My never

In this ever true

 

 

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Paul McGovern
    Jan 15, 2012 @ 20:29:19

    This poem just draw me in – split – from the opening title my mind parallels the meaning held in each line. The fractured term / division of form – inherent conflict – juxtaposed in semantic magnificence.

    Uniquely you from the outset, beautiful, concise, detailed wonder – a contradiction explored with duality held close.

    Colour resonates throughout, a word spectrum to match. Language rich, meaning cored into every line – I just eclipse myself in reading, block out the world to let your lines take me to yours.

    The human condition, the secrecy of self – the presentation of a poet.

    The last two lines are just exemplary of poetic poise –

    My never

    In this ever true

    May you never stop writing everything with your truth…

    Poetry you are as you write.

    Reply

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