The Flood
THE FLOOD
Sun pours through the window,
a shower of light to strike
the sheer white pages of my mind,
a stark reminder of emptiness
mocking me like the faces on the wall.
I think of Zora and Atlantis, (how does
history know if any of us ever existed?)
the sinking feeling of wordlessness
drowning me. Nassau braces for a hurricane
while I wait for the flood to reach
my pen and the verbal onslaught
that will leave paper bloodied and bruised
with the wounded thoughts
of a penny-less wordsmith.
Copyright © Phil Capitano | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment