Poem of the Day — Scalding

Parked, brittle scheme of things

I wield a sword

Silver shining, flashing in dreamlike, steam room sweat

Striking separate drums

Echo against grey walls growing from town gathered crowds

Marching on stepping stones, barracked in jesters clothing

Chequered, drivelling stooges munching at my imagination

Exploring gravel roads whilst digging graves for my last breath

A cave dwelling monotheistic blaming tool

Dug out of shovels

Nails sharp, upended launched into soft skin till blood runs

In soft amulets

Pearls of wisdom

Goblets of mystery

As scene in brown paper magazines

A mere tribulation

My casting metal bridged bucket

Overflowing with smelling salt fumes

To clear the head

Of nuance

Until the morning song thrush is choked by dawn.

Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee 14th June 2015

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