The Visit

I stand in quiet by the stream,
and wait for a key.
Either I was left behind or I
left something close;

a part of my life doesn't move.
There's a loss as if all
of history has been replayed
in the dramas lived here.

These horses don't know me,
and the epoch is new.
The fields are fields, the silver
air no truer than anything else.

poem by Zorika Petic
Added by Poetry Lover
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Abandoned Houses

Abandoned houses are
illusion reaching
its end;

wind and rain and time
root for the
ground.

They have the calmness brought
by defeat,
the bearing of farmers

who are whittled
and resist no more than
enough.

See how easily the earth
takes them back:
an eye here,

[...] Read more

poem by Zorika Petic
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!