Waypoint…

here
in a back country crossroad
in the low hanging haze
of a hot summer night
my footfalls are drowned
by the roar of cicadas
near an old oak
with the august moon
caught high in its branches
she sat side-saddle
on a weathered fence
she noticed the bloody quill
in my back pocket
and jumping down from her perch
the ground boiled around her toes
she said she could see
the blood of the bards
flowing in my veins
and I sold my soul
for a wink from her emerald eye
and a white-hot kiss
from her poetic lips

About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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27 Responses to Waypoint…

  1. oldepunk says:

    lovely piece Eric!

  2. trE says:

    “in the low hanging haze
    of a hot summer night
    my footfalls are drowned
    by the roar of cicadas
    near an old oak
    with the august moon”

    You did an excellent job creating the scene then ended it solidly, Eric. This is lovely.

  3. Rita says:

    Beautiful, lil’ bro ❀️

  4. Sigh…this is beautiful. ❀

  5. Emily says:

    Sigh… ❀

  6. You know how to write the WORLD in your words.

  7. Kindra M. Austin says:

    This is perfection.

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