I write a lot actually. This one's probably my best:
A Poem from Planet Mars
Upon the pages none have read
We danced as children with their toys
No red horizon to border our boundless fields
Which would become the unpublished chapter
Gradually the wind began its murmur
Slipping its message to the dogs
They begin to growl, snap at the outsiders
A tremulous chord swelling within the cavity
What then, when the fire, sword, and axe
Pave a way for the rising behemoth
The gallant roar of the gong, waves came crashing down
The last words of an infinite epilogue
After our vitality is stolen
And the dream we knew so well lay
Shattered like glass upon the floor
We sit, the two of us, you and I
And think of endless things, and distant stars
And ponder this winding river of ours…
Thus concludes this poem from planet Mars.
A Poem from Planet Mars
Upon the pages none have read
We danced as children with their toys
No red horizon to border our boundless fields
Which would become the unpublished chapter
Gradually the wind began its murmur
Slipping its message to the dogs
They begin to growl, snap at the outsiders
A tremulous chord swelling within the cavity
What then, when the fire, sword, and axe
Pave a way for the rising behemoth
The gallant roar of the gong, waves came crashing down
The last words of an infinite epilogue
After our vitality is stolen
And the dream we knew so well lay
Shattered like glass upon the floor
We sit, the two of us, you and I
And think of endless things, and distant stars
And ponder this winding river of ours…
Thus concludes this poem from planet Mars.
Now, that the flow is stalled,
The breath is held, the framework built,
Do the clock's hands fly, or remain still?
The breath is held, the framework built,
Do the clock's hands fly, or remain still?
