I'm sitting on a lonely park bench
Strewn with fatally maimed leaves
The air reeks of dried flowers
Undivulged secrets
And smoke.
The moon is mounting on a scarless sky
Save the tiny white freckles
That blemish the wizard's cloak
A cloak that embraces the endless world
Like a soundless cyclone.
Silent.
Smothering.
The buildings are dotted with halos of light
That shyly peek through the occasional crevices between curtains
Crevices some family was careless enough to let be;
A family so careless, so uncultured
It forgot it needed privacy.
My forlorn gaze rests upon
The yellow, burning lamps
That bathe the surrounding land
In a glowing pool of light,
I watch a crowd of zealous pegions
To a greener perch take flight.
The rare gust of soothing air
I should attribute to the trees
The lords of this green empire
That with their long, all - overshadowing arms
Their ghostly silhouettes
Their iron roots, their brownish leaves
Provide me a peaceful nook
To sort the mess in my mind.
A stray leaf detaches from its mother
And draws a hesitant pattern
Through the winding bylanes of destiny
Before a singular slack in the wind
Causes it to mingle with the mud below.
A tiny child that had vibrant dreams
That were shattered with its body
Now lying helpless on the ground
YOU ARE READING
Salt And Ink
Poetry(#1 in Poetry 14th November 2015- 14th December 2015) (5th in What's Hot- Poetry, 20th January 2016) Cover picture- grunge (WeHeartIt) "Prepared thus to close, he raised his knife, Death came later; he was stabbed by life." When my ballpoint buckles...
