LOST SOLDIERS

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  • Anger

    LOST SOLDIERS
    Upon this vessel
    Full of fools
    We ride in silence
    In a danger dance,
    Slipping and sliding
    Precariously balancing
    Upon a precipice
    Overlooking the
    Swirling pools
    Blown by whirling winds,
    Poured and stirred by chance
    By Gods who laugh
    At all our prayers,
    Then begin dancing
    As we scream
    Upon the edge.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Maskwa’s Poems (1)

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    Title Comments Submitted
    LOST SOLDIERS 0 03/04/2009

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