low











a smoking gun and tiny fingers tremble
as a soul departs with only seven years of memories
an empty baby carriage insults the dawn
while a rumour of angels cry on the lawn

unfit husbands
beneath the rite of midnight
dress in vests filled with dynamite
a plane filled with hope speeds toward the coast
but some dreams die upon bedpost
the evening news has tv's broken
now who will scream for the softer spoken

we pack our bags and strap on ghosts
a plane filled with hope speeds toward the coast
made of children and scissors and paper mache
we all become martyrs from the ricochet











.

Poem Comments

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Olan01 commented on low

10-14-2010

The loss of innocence so well written in this masterpiece of words is a joy to read in it sadness.

Savant commented on low

08-13-2010

Don't know why I immediately started thinking about 911. I suppose no one will ever mention death and planes and not go back to that horrific scene. Who will scream for the soft spoken? This line had the most impact on me. Who will be the hero? Maybe The Caped CRush! Powerful piece, delivered excellently.

Crush

08/13/2010

thank you for your time savant.....i haven't written in awhile but i have been reading you and i am always impressed by your talent.

ApaqRasgirl commented on low

07-04-2010

The loss of a child is never easy and left with memories to make you cry the rest of your life. love Asha

Crush

07/04/2010

true, and they are the most innocent among us. the ricochet of mad men is what i discuss here and how everyone is effected including innocent babies.

ApaqRasgirl commented on low

07-04-2010

This was great, so sad the picture you paint that still flows so well to the end. terrific. thanks for sharing love Asha

Crush

08/13/2010

thank u and sorry for just getting back to u.

cheronld commented on low

07-03-2010

Wow...what a heartfelt punch to the gut....this was a truly moving and touching piece.....simply awesome....I am very touched...Cher

Crush

07/04/2010

thank you so very much...i appreciate your time . i try to write it raw and true while maintaining decorum.

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

Crush’s Poems (59)

Title Comments
Title Comments
carried off by owls 1
Santa Claus Is Coming Around 1
skin 2
the midnight girl 1
hold 1
here 0
the other 1
flashback 1
violent pretty 1
the people in the attic 1
the ride 1
my nightmares are awake 1
no bugs 6
waiting 3
welcome 5
a fetus in a clear bowling ball 6
crows feet 7
rats 5
the mobster 4
perfect 6
jumper 5
lady godiva 3
malaise 3
pirate 4
flight on time 3
fear of falling 4
unfinished crow ? 5
touch ( aka, am i made of summer ) 8
chemocallouse
s
3
elephant 5
cancer 8
skyline 5
st. saviour 2
satellites 4
were you waiting for me ? 10
snapshot 5
fists 12
lauren 17
insomnia 18
ceremony 12
mother 14
ash 27
the june bug 15
low 19
thorns 10
paralyzed 9
mr. sparkle 15
dresses 15
glass 13
cemetaries 18
throe 18
if i fell in love 27
pills 22
off black 20
mannequin 22
umbrage 12
sick boy 12
kelly has a big head 21
unfairly fairy 26