Folding Kelley Williamson
Slide your fingers over the strings
Listening to the microscopic scratching it brings
Ridged fingers and moving air,
Play the song of possiblity.
Rising on both sides,
Through you eyes
The guitar's voice rushes you into my heart and flutters
Banging against the walls to free itself.
And as the silence closes its hand around the moment
I feel my breath in your pocket
And you take it with you.
Until next we meet.
Listening to the microscopic scratching it brings
Ridged fingers and moving air,
Play the song of possiblity.
Rising on both sides,
Through you eyes
The guitar's voice rushes you into my heart and flutters
Banging against the walls to free itself.
And as the silence closes its hand around the moment
I feel my breath in your pocket
And you take it with you.
Until next we meet.
posted by Footprint | 5:45 AM
4 Comments:
no i don't sing, which is fortunate for other people's ears. i write alot, since i was 10.
rock on!!
what a terrific poem. poetry is suppose to allow each reader to take whatever is needed from the poem. i take from the poem: a most lustful affair.
i must dig up one of my old poems and repost it to my blog .. i don't write much poetry anymore, not sure why.
nam: Write away man. Kelso is a writer and will be greater still as she continues.
if you ever get some up on the blog let me know. i'll check it out.
um..no problem. you're welcome.
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