Poem of the Day – Diesel Drapes


Diesel Drapes


Hanging in stains, flecked with golden thread.

Dead to the world, a tapping

A symbol of time!

Chiming, a drop in the ocean

A notion frozen in crystals of tears.


Slam; the tender, sword swallowing waitress,

In torn dress struggling to get home.

A comb in her hair for the sake of a mess in the courtyard

Dogs bark; the sound echoes in the heel of my shoe


The wind carves clouds into faces

The walls grow hands to strangle ideas out of the corners of the shattered mind

Find out that life is given to those who are walking in broken sections

Sold to the man with the millions

As if it makes a difference

When the bones are dust


Just a scream at the outside

No use to the sponge like paper covering up the freshly baked cake

For the sake of a birthday; candles flicker in mourning

For air sucked from jeopardy

A remedy for the sick

Bowled over by meaningless dribble

Gusts of wind extend the option

To go

To sleep

Wait until tomorrow


February 18th 2017

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright

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