Easter Morning

by Garrison Locke

A relentless 72 miles per hour,

Weather changes,

Doesn’t matter.

Send us a prayer.

Echoes recoil

compressing

hope,

help,

heart.

Aftermath of vision

consecrates

fluorescent sunrise

– unnatural nature –

cold,

stale,

hollow,

insincere.

Tags: poem

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010 at 9:30 am and is filed under Creative Writing, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.