Poem 47#


I end up sitting by my window grill tonight,
Listening to the silence of the night.
The owls trill and warble a sad melody.
I look over my own shoulders,
Down my hand, they wish to hold the droplets that fall,
Alas, my loose wrist fail to hold them, they all fall to the timid ground.


I stare at my own shadow,
Rusting under the neon moon light
Feel the melancholy of the glum leaves,
They persuade me that they are free.
Yet fear the loathe of the rusty wind.

The unattended concrete road, shines under the street light,
Yellow gold, lit like the sun,
Yet no one lurks around this street.
Apart from the unruly dogs,
That break into a furious gallop to chase the ghosts and the cars.
The clock by the wall,tells me to hasten my pace,
For it’s almost midnight now.
Every normal being must be asleep,

With cold feet I reach my bed,
I lie awake where darkness lurks.
The monster under my bed,
Sleeps soundly, as though hypnotized.
But leaves me alone,

As it opens,

The Pandora box tonight.



8 Replies to “Poem 47#”

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