Treasure Island

RIC S. BASTASA


There Will Be Words Kept Unsaid


that i have decided to keep

they have become so beautiful
unsaid, keeping the grace in
silence, their faces veiled
in secrecy, their bodies pale

they smell the whiteness of fresh
mountain flowers, if they
keep their hands, you can feel
how cold they are, breathing

the cold and trembling hushes
of dying mountains.

Submitted: Monday, May 06, 2013
Edited: Monday, May 06, 2013

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