Thursday 5 June 2014

Day 488 - Scrap Midnight Poem 2

It's dark beneath the eyelids
Shadow pass, faces without features
The birds hang light bats from branches.
The outstretched arms of the trees
Cross like a forest of raised spears.
How long till words find form?
A year on from the disaster
I am still waiting for them to mobilise
Into some useful function
Thy sit about me like the discards of a defeated army
Unable to wipe the smirk away from silence.

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