grapes of people in the midday heat
seek the vines – of hands and homes
alone together, withered bones.
a strand of hair
plastered to a bayonet
not yet her shoulders slumped
waiting — whitened knuckles
hidden thoughts are burning
afterwards — behind a veil
has not ceased to quiver
but soon — so very soon
when desert wind has burned her veins
she will release her dragon
I had to write on poem for Claudia’s poem as well.. come and create your own from either Claudia’s or Brian’s poetry. You never know where your muse might take you.
February 26,, 2015