Fluttering banners, ripped to shreds
Piles of rubble inside our heads
Walls of a castle laid shattered and bare
Blank eyes are searching, but to move they don't dare
Staring at a landscape bleak
It's not outward answers that they seek
As they scour the battlefield inside their mind
For answers no one else can find
Smouldering embers, ashes fly
Scattering people throughout the sky
The truth is lost, or at least ignored
The casualties of a fiery sword
Oily smoke spirals in helical lines
Pressing the walls inside the mind
Repression seeks its own release
Bitter bones allow no peace
***
Hey guys,
You know when you genuinely don't know where something comes from and it just seems to pour out of your pen anyway?
That was this, originally written on a napkin in a cafe that I just found crumpled inside my bag.
Happy new year.
Alex xxx
YOU ARE READING
Under My Sofa
PoetryWhen I was little I wrote in the space under my sofa. Now I write on top of it. That's not poetic. I'm just too big to fit underneath anymore.
