PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The mirror of the sky’s grey face shatters

Illusions of last night; they melt into dark alleyways

Crunching, my boots choke back tears of wet streets

and the last grains of hope become trapped in their grooves



It is incomprehensible to a tree-skewered riverbank:

My heart blooming like an Azalea through my damp skin

It is neither lead nor stone, yet it weighs a ton of wind through my hair

and cerulean eyes electric with despair



Unravelling the stairs, under falling plaster

From it all I cannot seem to make new shapes

I can only turn my face slowly like a sunflower

and plead with myself to find the dawn-break inside.



NJP 14.12.2003