Poetic

sitting
 in the corner
 of a pub
 
I write vows
 and eulogies
 I speak
 of the dead
 visiting
 the departed
 
speaking of love
 waxing of life
 on the breath
 of a baby 

I take minutes
 of hours
 I wrap my hands
 in cheesecloth
 
stained with black
 my fingernails
 have loosened
 from their beds
 
life passes through
 my pen, surging
 and ebbing
 with each tragedy
 or celebration 

I read lips
 hear tones
 watching from afar
 the faces
 
but unable
 to touch
 the life in them

deathimaginationlifeloveonfree verse

♡Like0

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.