Poem of the Day — Black Frame

Black Frame

Chilled wind, pinned to the ceiling;

My truth pulsating

Grieving a lost loved one;

Trickle treat, I give up to a welcome

Blast the signet ring from the gun of my fire

Beckoning a jump out of the window, my risked penetrating thoughts

Crumble into warm company; blessed with a love for simple things

A crust and a candle,

A mantle bottle with tired ashes

Left over crumbs handed out to the birds on my table

The ones next to the wings that host a castle

Revealing a simple palette for revelation

Spread in small circles to cover the reason

A level playing field with me tossing the tarnished coin

Dressed like a pauper I enter the palace of wisdom

Crippled in teachers eyes

Muddled in my own


Further to a concession

From the whistler of tunes

The disguised harvest

Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee April 15th 2015

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s