This shape without space, This pattern without stuff, This stream without dimension Surrounds us, flows through us, But leaves no mark. This message without meaning, These tears without eyes This laughter without lips Speaks to us but does not Disclose its clue. These waves without sea Surge over us, smooth us. These hands without fingers Close-hold us, caress us. These wings without birds Strong-lift us, would carry us If only the one thread broke. Submitted by Stephen Fryer
Added: 2 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 19 Apr 2018 9:56 AM | Viewed: 3507 times
A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.
ON SALE - only $29.95 19.95!
For more information...