Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Good Friday

I know I'm a little early but here is me being a poet. I'm also out of town, so stay tuned till next week.









Good Friday

At your feet I lay my love.
A head hung in shame
from the site of the old tree.

One of three
pieces, a broken frame
at your feet I lay. My love.

It is a mystery
how I AM came
from the site of the old tree.

To open my eyes and see
at your right a Notre Dame
at your feet. I lay. My Love.

A beloved as if he
wished the same
from the site of the old tree.

Then to die and free
the world of vain.
At your feet I lay. My love
from the site of the old tree.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

¿qué sobre toda la gente quiénes no tienen una voz, que se ocupará de ella?.

Emily said...

I like it. Excellent use of minimalism!

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