The setting of the sun bleeds
Endless lapping waves
caressing a fine, bone dust,
at the bottom of this well;
a myriad of bloody hand prints desperate
to tell of adulation, hanging-
on a crucifixion, stalactites dripping life.
The branches of a dead tree
kiss the soil and eagerly inhale,
while the roots give birth to an enervated leaf.
In this, you stroll
where your foot prints from a century ago
take their toll.
The caverns of spring,
used to sing eternal.
Todays best new poem was written by TGG.