The Way In
A fire burns orange and bright
in stark contrast against
the black Bohemian sky,
crackling hard over sounds
of a furious pen scratching
coffee stained parchment,
pausing to stoke flames,
reflect inward, and slurp
crudely a harsh, smoky brew.
Breathing in deep the
bitter, caffeinated aroma,
choking, expelling forth;
returning its essence
in a visceral act
of vulgar gratitude.
With a deep groan
his broken body relaxes
while a gust of salty air
tousles the long, black hair
free beneath a headscarf
of deep reds and blacks
mirroring the gritty color
palette so salient
in his art and aura.
Annoyance sits heavy
on his weathered face,
knotted like the cut wood
burning hot and fierce
in destructive release
of the flaring ire within.
What secrets lie bare
in that leather
bound journal?
What surly words
spill forth from
fountain ink and fury?
Is he looking for a way out?
Or, by his own words,
does he seek the way in?
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.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
