PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I can see the river from here.

With my toes,

Bent over the ridge

Of my own, private outcropping of rock

That stretches beyond,

The reach of my eye,

And has been seen by millions before.



My hands are at rest, by my sides

Idle in the wake,

Of a contented mind;

Caught up in the scent of cactus

And raw pine,

Stubbornly clinging

By a single, forgotten root



Then assaulted by the absense of sound;

Fallen pebbles could,

Echo for years,

And the wind fairly sings in the crannies

And nooks, tenderly,

Etched by their age,

Still shrouding the tales left untold.