SS ( / Port Washington, New York)

A Flow A Flowing Flow

It hurts to think God doesn’t
love her dangling dainty pale
feet in life’s silvery flow flowing
like a wingy compressing air
against speed boiling like lead
in a vat or concrete hardening
hurts to see her flinging limbs
towards love forgetting the flow
silvery sizzling cramped. Who
is she her punishment is such?
Who is God a thing to allow
a silvery flow and bubbling
lead and cold insides hell and
a girl a slip a mere one born
to be cupped in loving palms
not reaching for what is out
of grasp. Who’s reader, poet,
with hurt defining God as if
it were possible remotely so.

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Comments (3)

Thank you for your generous comments. I completely totally utterly forgot about this poem. Nice to be reunited with an old friend. S.
ok, read it a few times, very deep, , ,
'hurts to see her flinging limbs towards love forgetting the flow' ah poet, this is grande grande! ! 'Who is she her punishment is such? ' IMHumbleO this line threw me, maybe 'that' before 'her' would string it together better.. a pleasure to read you, Sarah... ~kelly