Stones are thrown into piles on the
ground.
They are ten times my
normal weight.
The sun heats up my life
like a furnace.
Under the night stars,
under a gray charcoal sky,
you are heaven—and I,
I am hell.
Speak to me, stones:
you are hard as a boiled egg,
and round as the moon.
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1 comment:
Thank you very much, I am glad you liked my poem! :)
And thank you for joining the staff of "The Rose and Thorn" Ezine. If you need help with anything on the Zine, please let me know!!
How is your writing going? Was it very hard find a literary agent?
I think my first blog was at livejournal, but I can't remember! lol.
Apryl
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