We definitely went the wrong way.
Tall trees in front, above, behind us
turning into silhouettes, against
a pink and bright blue monster
streaming up with reaching tendrils pressed
above and over, peeking down at us
through one long rent - a gap
someone has scratched through thick black crayon wax,
along the bent and twisting trail
that trails behind
and bends ahead for miles and miles
- "how did we miss the turn?" I ask.
"there weren't any turns," you sigh
"But isn't this the way we came?" I say,
despite our upward climb. We know by now,
we should be going down - and soon,
we will be blind
Tall trees in front, above, behind us
turning into silhouettes, against
a pink and bright blue monster
streaming up with reaching tendrils pressed
above and over, peeking down at us
through one long rent - a gap
someone has scratched through thick black crayon wax,
along the bent and twisting trail
that trails behind
and bends ahead for miles and miles
- "how did we miss the turn?" I ask.
"there weren't any turns," you sigh
"But isn't this the way we came?" I say,
despite our upward climb. We know by now,
we should be going down - and soon,
we will be blind
Comments
This goes here!
Which I can't do on the pure poetry blog. I just get running at the mouth and before I know it, I've totally trod on the delicateness of the pure poetical. I do it. I do it every time! So I must abstain. No authorial comment shall stain the pure poetry blog's comments, coloring the poems from without with intrusive pronouncement, when they must needs stand entirely on their own from within!
Over there, I mean. They must needs over there. Here we can be free as verse about such things!