ashes defiling the wood upon which
twitched the tender black feline, eradicating the
seduction of the knowledge, waiting,
like a lover at the raining train station, with the billowing overcoat
and unprecedented iron-work stare stereotyping
the moment, bringing the schmaltz to the surface, sucking a hickey on the poem, and the cat jumps through the
t.v. with the voodoo lady throwing the blarney stone all the way to joppa road, and fuck, man, but doesn't
Eternity
follow it into the glass, melting like butter
as the touch of the media heat glistens across the
sweetest expanse of her skin.
All the youthful expressions, dying
in the wind, and us, all alone, watching
the sadness quiver amid the grasses.
Freedom with it's head hung low,
knowledge with no seductions, ashes
defiling the wood.
No union in the tribe, ropes hanging for the necks,
garnishes beautifying each plate, served up by the
children scorching themselves with the screen.
There are weeping eyes waiting for the engine to cease it's
steam, waiting for an embrace, and remembrance,
and comfort, and hope.
there are reasons to hold onto each word as if it
was the treasure of all kings.
There are piles of books,
and love in every lie.
Birth sign: Cancer
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by jay dee.