Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Shaking spears

break your light on my window

show me that hell is empty

even if the devils are here

watch static

with eyes closed and

black-and-white old films

about death-omens

and family vacations

to the middle east

you smile

and wince at the same time

in a room that was once vibrant

with laughter, red dresses, and sweet summerwine

and now I can’t tell if it’s dirt

or a shadow on your face

for hours the faces morphed into clouds

shepherds guided ghostly sheep on ancient paths

and i couldn't take my eyes off

anything at all

“you are not alone

even the most offensive shadow

was made by light,”

a voice suggested

and I laughed

“shadows don’t offend me,

only lampshades

that don’t do their job”

No comments:

Post a Comment