One day,
they built their hut
on a flat plain of rock
along the winding banks
of the river sky.

Only the dried out husks
of their children's children

Elsewhere, the descendents
of their distant relatives
discovered traces of their imprints,

and at night,
around a bonfire,
they sung their story
up into the tumbling sparks
of the stars.


thorngrubber said...

This sprouted from the seedling of an original, 2 line poem I wrote entitled

peace, R.I.Pieces.Those who land on rock shall be lost.
This has been a poem of hope.

Shasta said...

rip me open

Anonymous said...

me too

thorngrubber said...

whoa... did I lose my opportunity for a threesome? ;b