Uncategorized

From What I Hear


The lovers are all dead
From what I hear of adulthood
It is
The days my mind can’t count
The lull of a seaside town
The gull flying in its wake
The skull spiked in a maudlin play

The magicians are all dead
From what I hear of adulthood
It is
Fruit off trees on a rainy day
Unheard pleas for a deity’s sake
Poisoned ivy on a childhood gate

The singers are all dead
From what I hear of adulthood
It is
A cacophonous drowning dirge
An isolated whistle on a dried up shrub
A whisper in an azure field
A kiss on life’s sweet cheek

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s