St. John's Wort

Be it either the bent wind

Or the winter cold. The day

Spun through knuckles, then,

In growing old, grows away

 

This split room, this land to tilt

In towns low, in sick valley skies, 

A bleakness curls into new stilts

For us to try. Oh, I wish we rise!

 

(Below it all) we structure the prior

Height. A helical-scaffold to climb

And rise! Rise! Anchor these wires

Light, and more light, leads the blind

 

Reviews

[Frontier]

Wow this is truly a unique style! Love the sentence structure and how it flows.

" A town low, and sick valley skies.
Their bleakness curled " - Love this part :)

[Edmund S. Obumba]

This piece screams 'Cole Heyley!'
Awesome piece!

[Junert]

the ending gets my attention. Light, and more light, leads the blind.

[Great Aunt Astri]

No, I didn't really understand this poem ... but reading it aloud I got quite carried away by the enthusiasm in it!

[Dayran]

A wish to rise like few others. To start from below and work it to the top ... must surely present a truer way to do anything. hi Cole ... Happy New Year