Cold Voices (poem) by Walter LaVerne Jones on AuthorsDen

Cold Voices
by Walter LaVerne Jones → (All Poetry by Walter LaVerne Jones)
Not rated by the Author.

Save


Wendy and Joan sing in the voices that once was me, a cool lonesome sound in a graveyard passed by weeds and time. Stones turned as a taxi passes blue eyes crying in soaked evening dress ....she was going to be a singer and I was to crash burn and die.. Permit me to be a worth of trivial game laid in the wild of screams seeking reality crying in the midst of hope reaching me in hearth of body never an ending just a sending of faith called in the wills in tribute to a place in the wilderness of hope seeking not finding just restoring on the Loral's in the eyes cries mid stream grays as the lights finding a rest to Sit in the banjo of a heart lost to be a rode in the dust of bleeding out a song to a failing need Praise me a palace to sleep at breadth and height my soul reads the page in want of map guiding me past the trials of fame fortune left cold and alone in the coffin ash and sack Tracking a narrow path willows a message in hallow ground sounding a person kept holding dreamers silenced but taking more of heart than soul past tributes Fate leads in the candle of lights remerging music was a rock in the wilderness of finding peace a heart of trust in trials taking me from day into the night of joy seeking please in my words calling the child as eyes keep me in the memorizing feel of worth each word a guide to imagination screaming faith in hope to be prized Straight arrows in the backhand flying of respite finding hello eyes placing value precious as the fingers kept in following past sand eyes smiling as told a smile captured Dancing beams of dust on the must of trying to be more than a voice in your night keeping pace watch need pleased Flowers open in gift to the sun in rainbows I run and then as water fails to clean rite of sorrow pause into a grate leaking warm emotion explodes in the folds of fingers telling a variations as melody in skips past the drum and then lay quietly waiting to plucked from Words left on the bed of edges true Hours pass into the wailing sages from edge to pledge a better guess in a confess trite Willing waist gave night to black stages closed dark of steps moving past holes dirt sleep As a nap in failing to taxi left in raindrops going a circle cold damp ground takes a soul From joy to leaning stones sorted in rows just words from dream to die as the pen goes still