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The Velvet

Greg Lanier 1962 (Atlanta, GA)



I walked into a velvet yard
and spake a velvet tongue.
Then pulled across my velvet eyes
the lids of velvet young.

And then I lifted velvet hands
up to my velvet face
to feel the lines of age beyond
my tarnished, brassy face.

But where before the eyes of man
have touched the lips of God?
I pointed to the velvet shoots
who’s roots were velvet sod.

But how can I express the soul
of man who’s avant-garde?
I touched the blues.
I felt the hues.
I walked into a velvet yard.
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Submitted by GregLanier on May 11, 2021

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