Youth

We used to scream, barbaric yelps until
Our throats were raw, our voices hoarse

As soon as the winter thaw would permit
Kick and stamper like a sadistic horse

Groping for the light of a sliver moon
Until our hands were as heavy as a horse

Around the corner, we peaked at freedom
Like the head of Shasta’s horse

Mothers’ grip, fathers quiped bitter words
Until throats were raw, their voices hoarse

—-

National Poetry month. Day 19. Poem 11. Not going to try to catch up. But I will try to get a few more poems out in the coming days. This is a ghazal.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s