Pen clutched tightly
in hand,
as droplets of blood
do stain the parchment beneath,
till yes,
my heart is swept clean
once more....
till soul be purged
and remembrance withered
dimly does stand
pen clutched in
my right hand
Ill scratch ink
to time
to restore
good forgotten
remembered no more
I'll scratch, brand and
press quill
till my hand
withers in time
to restore what was good
left waiting in store
I'll etch raw in passion
till my heart is swept clean
till horror fades
in remembrance
and good
stands in its place
I'll stain ink to parchment
till the race
I complete
of sweeping my heart
till it's clean pure
and sweet
broad brushstrokes
small tiny ones too
I'll pencil my
torn dreams
till new do appear
I sweep with my pen
instructed by heart
till lite saddles darkness
and sun
eats the moon
I'll scratch still in fury
till time remembers
me no more
my departure of carriage
shall be marked by this sight
he left in a whirlwind
heart swept clean and bright
Rodney Evan Bohen
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Reviews of "Heart Swept Bright"
Reviewed by coni lea harris (Reader)
Reviewed on April 22, 2003
I once knew an acuaintance, who's father was a "mad painter" he literally drove himself mad,,,but I am puzzled, does a heart really ever abled to be swept clean? I'll have to search,,,excellent write, My dear sir, Rodney, but of course, xan deeply realted, arent' we all "scraching to survive,,but while we are trying to be civilizes, of course we want to be, at least I hope that the majority of us want to be, then we have the emotion of love to protect, to help one carry the burdens of life's &*, and I could go on forever, but I won't I'm sure we will all come out even in the end, if we are at least kind to one another,,,,thank you for sharing the creativity of your mind, your soul, your experinces in life's jounry, remind me of Gordon lighfoot, guess that's why I love his music,,his talent, as well as many others, carry on, Soldier, after all aren't we all "soldiers"
Reviewed by *********** ********** (Reader)
Reviewed on April 21, 2003
I'll pencil my
torn dreams
till new do appear
I sweep with my pen
instructed by heart
till lite saddles darkness
and sun
eats the moon <-----Good Lord....this is awesome work. Very visual, evocative writing....thank you, Dani
I'll scratch still in fury
till time remembers
me no more
my departure of carriage
shall be marked by this sight
he left in a whirlwind
heart swept clean and bright
How much I wish that would work for me, This was so beautiful, and moving, I loved this one!
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
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torn dreams
till new do appear
I sweep with my pen
instructed by heart
till lite saddles darkness
and sun
eats the moon <-----Good Lord....this is awesome work. Very visual, evocative writing....thank you, Dani
I'll scratch still in fury
till time remembers
me no more
my departure of carriage
shall be marked by this sight
he left in a whirlwind
heart swept clean and bright
How much I wish that would work for me, This was so beautiful, and moving, I loved this one!
Reindeer
I like your poetry
William