One
of my older poems:
"Trapped
in the Wind"
Rotting
here upon the ground,
Is
where my stoic heart is found,
It
beats yet, as the raven feasts,
Blood
and soil, rain at least,
At
best, my soul is caught between,
The
branches of that dying tree,
The
one whose leaves don't ever bloom,
Whose
height at night, appears to loom,
My
tears, of which, could fill a river,
Are
trapped inside the wind and shiver,
Down
my broken spine, it mocks,
For
it was hidden beneath the rocks,
Crazy!
I know just how it sounds,
But
to my words my being is bound,
I
will haunt the forest and all within,
Until
my blackened light grows dim.
İHolly
Thomas 2001
