|
| |
Collision On The Gate
In ghostly white of midnight as
sky- shadows trace gossamer streaks ,
I become a recluse,
losing tracks of stars' grave hues
and the flavor of meadows
in snow grows bitter...the bronze gate
reeking of metal cold, again --frozen
like my rusty, numb thoughts.
Must I remember
how they were slain? The wails come
to haunt those Godforsaken eves
when the lane flooded groaning voices,
ramming our old grills from darn
collision of cars--- in a flash.
And now, dim clouds reflect frozen
bodies of kin like grief stricken portraits ,
pale as folded , bloodied sheets...
and I turn away from this mashed
scene on a vintage gate, grating
flesh in drills of shock
...my recluse core, seething
' Leave me alone...'
Copyright ©
Nette Onclaud
|
|