You breathe.
Slow.
Steady.
Light bleeds.
Dripping away as
Blackness,
Jewelled and sharp,
Pours foward.
From lips so pale.
The contrast,
Stark.
Fading.
You breathe.
The sun away.
You breathe.
Slow.
Steady.
Light bleeds.
Dripping away as
Blackness,
Jewelled and sharp,
Pours foward.
From lips so pale.
The contrast,
Stark.
Fading.
You breathe.
The sun away.
Old white bones.
So thin and worn.
In lazy dry wind.
Clack together.
A rhythmic applause
At slow small efforts,
Made far below.
Where few look up
To see the crowd.
Sorry for the lack of poems and updates recently. I started a new job (in publishing, yey!) last week and its swamped me a little. Hopefully will have time to properly put my poetry hat on again soon.
I wish I actually had a poetry hat…
Wrap that sound.
Soft and gentle.
Paper and string.
Then send it my way.
It can gather dust,
On a shelf in the corner.
Until, the last time.
Shaking hands reach.
To pull that bow,
Loose.