Iced Trees

(?:H:23.47|01.7.09:Y:?] ©c.thomas.carter






I looked across the hills
The trees long-dead and burned
The number Seven was written in ash and stone
In the far distance
I pine for her eyes met upon mine
After so long, I couldn't begin to describe why
The clock read Eight Days,
Hung by the door with the bolt locked
The stars to my sight shine with many
Different colors,
Fading from blues to greens and reds to yellows
I am isotropically unpredictable
Destined to enhance and/or destroy all that I touch
Perhaps that is why I am still waiting in prison
Serving the sentence I wrote with my own pen
It all began with the spoken word
Uprok and upheaval of personalities
Breathing in the forbidden fumes
Eventually wandering the streets at night
Entering the grand hotel
Playing the grand piano
Lost in the waterfall of ebony and ivory
I wrote a poem about the ice for her...
Blowing across the highway

I am a broken man.