horus823 Dec 2002

THE BONES OF WOE

Golden are the bones of woe.
Their brilliance has no place to go.
It plunges inward,
Spikes through snow.

Of weeping fathers whom we drink
And mother's milk and final stink
We can dream but cannot think
Golden bones encrust the brink.

Golden silver copper silk.
Woe is water shocked by milk
Heart attack, assassin, cancer.
Who would think these bones such dancers.

Golden are the bones of woe.
Skeleton holds skeleton.
Words of ghosts are not to know.
Ignorance is what we learn.

BY STAN RICE, SOME LAMB 1975.

p.s [by horus8] i believe this will be the third poem of his i've sent you, you still have yet to mention what you dislike technicaly, personaly, or subliminaly. and if you were to read the "subtext" a bit closer you will find the 'check mate' it was fun while it lasted though. merry christmas.m