Spires rise above
The brow of the amazed ascends
In awe of a woodlands cohesion
Limestone boulders protrude, not elude
And the feathered alight
The opening of an abyss
Through the limber arms of dying guardians
Awards us with the view of temporary death
Most don't appreciate, most depreciate
The eye's wonderful visions years in the making
From the faint hues of frosted foliage
And the grandure of glass lakes
We are fastened to inanimate movables
Which score the bodies of our composure
Let's thank the things we see
For without them
We are just imagination.
Christopher I feel this poem so deep, it goes beyond the visible. I truly enjoy your expression and the pen of your soul. beautiful!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Awesome thoughts well articulated.