Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

When the wild geese fly
across your eyes
and the Bedouin tethers
his camels to the stars

and what remains of tenderness
is heard in every seashell
of our madness,
ours will have been a time that came to be
and a day that had come to pass.

There are lonely hunters everywhere,
they hunt for arrows and they hunt for bows,
they hunt with weapons
for their soul.

Then, perhaps,
all is not lost in the art of amazement,
in the ridicule
of parting lips, in the money pit where the pendulum
swings

the river rocks
grey and black and white with clouds,
have something more to say.

I cannot say to whom it all belongs
but for this longing.

beautiful poem, Kaila!!!!! Loved specially the last two lines, gracias!!!!

Fine poem & theme.