deepundergroundpoetry.com
Still
Just after midnight on the grass
there's a wind through the still
after baked humidity,
barely noticeable.
The sky is some kind of opaque
puce on a navy blue skin.
Can't seem to categorize or describe it,
not even with poetry,
but that doesn't matter.
The lack of movement and sound
is pure, virgin and innocent.
If it wasn't for my conscience
this would be death.
there's a wind through the still
after baked humidity,
barely noticeable.
The sky is some kind of opaque
puce on a navy blue skin.
Can't seem to categorize or describe it,
not even with poetry,
but that doesn't matter.
The lack of movement and sound
is pure, virgin and innocent.
If it wasn't for my conscience
this would be death.
Published 29th Jun 2012
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Anonymous
29th Jun 2012 3:55am
well, this is just beautiful. the ending especially. one nitpick is that 'baked' in L3 seemed to stick out as being not as delicate as the rest of the poem. but other than that, it's light and fragile in the best of ways.
29th Jun 2012 6:47pm
Yeah this poem was writ quite quick while I was on the grass. Sorry about the "baked" thing. :)
Thank you.
Thank you.
