The Edge

Where is the edge of this dream?
Elk, bears, and mountain goats
   
are mating in the streets. Fever,
fog, bewilderment. There is blood

evidence. This house is dense
with loss and pain. Like fog. Snow

falls, thickly, but the landscape
is bare. Women in bright dresses

cling to the wire fence. Their faces
like fog. Men kneel on the stones.

Soldiers in bright uniforms carry
dark guns through the streets.

I am watching. Brightness glimmers
through the fog. Bar the doors.

 

 

The NaPoWriMo button is from Ivy, who is also posting prompts. Yay!

Comments

[Georganna Hancock]

Beautiful! Charming! Lovely! Thoughtful! Everything one could want for the first original poetry to celebrate its month. Was it syncronicity that lead Writer's Edge to The Edge here?

[Cathy]

Whoa! Powerful poem you got there.

[ozymandiaz]

Let me just say WOW!