Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2011


by Jerome Krammes

Where are you my love?  Can’t you hear me screaming through these shapes and solid colors that never repeat?  The wind across wheat blades making the field seem like an ocean.  The bird songs can’t keep up so they dilute into the scenery.  Perhaps the breeze means change…but to what?  Peace is the sole plateau which we look down from…so what beckons…or shall we dare even ask?  The wind may blow but change is not for sure.  Maybe this shows there is something more there…something that manifests itself as a relentless being that will show the road to sanctuary once balance is restored.  The chirp of a small wren while feeding as though it’s stomach is barren…that is the sound of a fire to go on.  Once more like always the crowd grows wearier and night begins.  Slumber acts as a healer and as a curse.  The more missed the more empty you feel inside.  Till the dawn breaks the mist and white caps engorge the blue demon they’ve been threaded through.  Whether it is within home, or temporary shelter from the harsh winds I pray you my love…sleep.

Added: 18.04.2011

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