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Parasite (Free verse) by Christof The fog does not lie on the field
Like a shroud or a cold white hand;
It rises up, a sweat, a breath,
Reminds the train it is not dead,
No Charon in a bone-white land
But a living fluke at the very least.
Up the ladder:
A Toast to Us!
Down the ladder:
ab*defg
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 8.0
Posted: October 18, 2007 1:26 AM PDT; Last modified: October 18, 2007 1:26 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.357609 Overall Rank: 3369 Comments:
[9]
Ranger @ 86.145.25.216
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21-Oct-07/1:40 PM
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Reply
Good poeme, although the train comes in maybe a little too abruptly, and "very least" sounds a bit too chunky to end with. Love the idea though.
having recently been amazed by fog in a tropical environment I connect with this...nice!
A fluke. Really? I did not know that.
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