A pencil.
Had I a pencil
I should write
Of a man with rasta-hair
With a heart as white as snow
Who believes himself to be
Every bit as pure as you and me
Of a thornless rose, a dream
Set against the background
Like a knife against the throat
In the violentest rape you’ve ever seen
Of this touchéd child
On wings of silk and latex lace
Zooming through the waters
Looking up from his highest disgrace
Of the sonnets, pinned on trees
With a kiss for every girl
Who passes by, day after day
Like you, and I
I had a pencil.
But the pencil broke.
Reacties op dit gedicht
| no-more-less: | Woensdag, september 26, 2007 00:26 |
| how terrible, a broken pencil sweets, no-more-less en een goede nochtrust |
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Over dit gedicht
| Auteur: Mysticelfje |  
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| Gecontroleerd door: | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 25 september 2007 | ||
| Thema's: | ||