(18 January 1982 - / Pretoria, South Africa)

Broken Wood

A skirmish of hearts
Of bits flown to parts
Yet the friends’ clear love
Holding still all in cove

As dark trees whistle
And green grass allure
The wooden bench silent,
Bending to its bruise

A pang from the core
In desolation must bore
Between him and the Sky
Vexing disenchantment lie

From a wooden soft pith
He beseech Thee
A plea for the breath
The winds,
O truest of death

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Comments (1)

This is a wondeful poem good write