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Welcome !	Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link	29-May 11:55:39 AEST

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Array ( [sid] => 158484 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => From Coast to Shining Coast (vs. 2) [time] => 2010-03-28 12:55:33 [hometext] => For all those with dreams and how far they will sometimes go. [bodytext] => An unmarked postage stamp
is licked on its back
and pressed gently on a letter
sent from Melbourne
to Eureka where it will lay
with the other papered hopefuls.

The same could be said
about the no one named Gabe
who wrote his dreams neatly
and creased them tightly;
sent to Hollywood where
they read him
and within their best interests
decided to discard him
like the other dud letters.

He remained a no one,
a hard one who controlled
the machines that are his scarred hands.
They kept to monotonous molding
of metal with fire
while his eyes were encased
from the light which remained
only an empty white
of no writing, or ink.

But, now he waits with work
on his boots at a counter
made for the more distinguished.
At last, after too many days
sent without redress,
without enveloped rays of sun,
his papered hope had come.

Before his eyes see letters,
he makes out the marked stamp
smeared with the black brand
and he can't help but cry
while the world shifts priority. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 129 [topic] => 14 [informant] => skyhawk432 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DreamsandWishes )

From Coast to Shining Coast (vs. 2)

Contributed by skyhawk432 on Sunday, 28th March 2010 @ 12:55:33 PM in AEST
Topic: DreamsandWishes

An unmarked postage stamp
is licked on its back
and pressed gently on a letter
sent from Melbourne
to Eureka where it will lay
with the other papered hopefuls.

The same could be said
about the no one named Gabe
who wrote his dreams neatly
and creased them tightly;
sent to Hollywood where
they read him
and within their best interests
decided to discard him
like the other dud letters.

He remained a no one,
a hard one who controlled
the machines that are his scarred hands.
They kept to monotonous molding
of metal with fire
while his eyes were encased
from the light which remained
only an empty white
of no writing, or ink.

But, now he waits with work
on his boots at a counter
made for the more distinguished.
At last, after too many days
sent without redress,
without enveloped rays of sun,
his papered hope had come.

Before his eyes see letters,
he makes out the marked stamp
smeared with the black brand
and he can't help but cry
while the world shifts priority.

Copyright © skyhawk432 ... [ 2010-03-28 12:55:33]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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