Under the Yelp of Mourning Dogs

William Burkholder
My Kismet lay in the babble of my phantasm.
Cathode dreaming,
Elemental substance,

Sustenance I thought...
Notated in the empty bottles, and drowned lemons.

Virulent vine,
deadly ivy,
choking the crocus...

Choking me.

My vindications came in the night,
under the yelp of mourning dogs,
And the spasms of my weak humanity,

Releasing my soul to fresh gardens
And spiritual peace.

Published by William Burkholder

I am a poet and writer, and have been for more than 20 years. I currently have two books in print; "The Writer's Sight" and "The Sower's tree" I am involved with third reader.com, a literary website. I...  View profile

1 Comments

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  • Patricia Sicilia7/31/2008

    Hmm, I have to think about this one.

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