Garden of the Gods
Garden of the Gods, at Colorado Springs, Colorado. And the opening lines to a poem, written just tonight...
Bone to Bone, Pt 1
by g d tошиѕнеиdе (Copyright © 2011)
What are these voices that float through my head
Like soured plum visions in a dead Christmas bed?
They call from afar through a veil dark in hue,
As if trapped in a jar. —Can you hear them, too?
They call out and whisper, each speaking my name,
Revealing their lines, saying, "No! Not a game!
"What we say isn't fancy; nor is it yours alone;
"Our words you must share them, you must share bone to bone."
I'm not satisfied with the second line.