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RICHARD WILSON MOSS.

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 10/10/2014 |

     REALITIES AND OTHER POEMS


HERRING RUN PARK

Arrived shackled
And oak trees tremendous
In their reach across to each other
Their limbs tangled in their own chains
Rattling in the wind
Invited me into the shade
At Herring Run Park
Where herring have not frolicked in the stream
For a hundred years.
That chain gang of herring disappears
Long before I vent
Of enslavement to event.


REALITIES

Beauty does not belong to the flowers
The flood does not belong to the flood plain
The days are not the purchase of hours
Storms are not the property of rain.


WHAT THINGS SOUND LIKE

Seas sound like the unsettled voices of lost gods
Calling to one another in this endless labyrinth
Of human faith.

Wind across shores
Sounds like immortals whistling
Waiting for wars.

A crab scratching itself
Sounds like the click of a tongue
Humanity ignores.







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