DAWN CREEPS INTO THE ROOM Dawn creeps into the room. Sweet thief of my surrenders. The windows flood with light. The darkness is a dark sapphire seabed. Am I here? Am I there? Where am I that matters anymore? Windows. Windows. Windows. Labyrinths of the lost among the palace bureaucrats. Who weigh the cost. And say it isn’t worth it to look for a cause or a reason with the talons of why. The pigeons fly. The windows stare. The stones remain where they are. The steetlights are withering like flowers in the bitter frost. The leaves are fixed to the sidewalk like the fossils of butterfly laws. PATRICK WHITE
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 12:33:47 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015