Post by determinedtofail on Sept 7, 2009 11:40:50 GMT -5
Lost Eyebrows (Revised Version)
A girl stands in the middle of the market.
The only evidence to wind
is the movement of her hair.
Her stare reaches out,
like an owl burning on soft dreams
with eyes, steady as the world.
Behind her our people stretch.
Before her the legions march.
Far from home
I board a ship
with her coin eyes still in my pocket.
A sailor smells the sea and sighs.
His palm reaches over the pining woodwork,
The shortest distance between two points-
is never a straight line.
Even so,
I offer poetry to the dead
to invite the color of the wind
to calm their salted memories;
for death is never too far.
We arrive on voiceless streets.
We nod to each other, we nod to ourselves.
The tapping of my feet warns the dawn
causes the cats to stop and stare.
They are looking for their eyebrows again
between the rooftops, gutters, and wet pavement of the city,
because they can not cry without them.
Cats' eyes listen through time,
and death is carrying their eyebrows.
Lost Eyebrows (Origional Version)
In the middle of the market, a girl stands.
The only evidence to wind is her hair.
Her stare reaches out,
like an owl burning on soft dreams
with eyes, steady as the world.
Behind her our people stretch.
Before her the legions march.
Far from home
I board a ship
with her coin eyes still in my pocket.
A sailor smells the sea and sighs.
His palm reaches over the pining woodwork,
The shortest distance between two points-
is never a straight line.
Even so,
I offer poetry to the dead
to invite the color of the wind
to calm their salted memories;
for death is never too far.
We arrive on voiceless streets.
We nod to each other, we nod to ourselves.
The tapping of my feet warns the dawn
causes the cats to stop and stare.
They are looking for their eyebrows again
between the rooftops, gutters, and wet pavement of the city,
because they can not cry without them.
CatsEeyes listen through time,
and death is carrying their eyebrows.
---Shawn Austin 8-7-09
A girl stands in the middle of the market.
The only evidence to wind
is the movement of her hair.
Her stare reaches out,
like an owl burning on soft dreams
with eyes, steady as the world.
Behind her our people stretch.
Before her the legions march.
Far from home
I board a ship
with her coin eyes still in my pocket.
A sailor smells the sea and sighs.
His palm reaches over the pining woodwork,
The shortest distance between two points-
is never a straight line.
Even so,
I offer poetry to the dead
to invite the color of the wind
to calm their salted memories;
for death is never too far.
We arrive on voiceless streets.
We nod to each other, we nod to ourselves.
The tapping of my feet warns the dawn
causes the cats to stop and stare.
They are looking for their eyebrows again
between the rooftops, gutters, and wet pavement of the city,
because they can not cry without them.
Cats' eyes listen through time,
and death is carrying their eyebrows.
Lost Eyebrows (Origional Version)
In the middle of the market, a girl stands.
The only evidence to wind is her hair.
Her stare reaches out,
like an owl burning on soft dreams
with eyes, steady as the world.
Behind her our people stretch.
Before her the legions march.
Far from home
I board a ship
with her coin eyes still in my pocket.
A sailor smells the sea and sighs.
His palm reaches over the pining woodwork,
The shortest distance between two points-
is never a straight line.
Even so,
I offer poetry to the dead
to invite the color of the wind
to calm their salted memories;
for death is never too far.
We arrive on voiceless streets.
We nod to each other, we nod to ourselves.
The tapping of my feet warns the dawn
causes the cats to stop and stare.
They are looking for their eyebrows again
between the rooftops, gutters, and wet pavement of the city,
because they can not cry without them.
CatsEeyes listen through time,
and death is carrying their eyebrows.
---Shawn Austin 8-7-09
