Loneliness from her body
Shines like the moon
As she stares at me
From a dark window.
Her bones shine through
Haunted, jaundiced skin,
Radiating the night coming pain
Of her ending self.
The leaves from the Poplar trees
Sweep beneath her window
In the glass dance of silence
Like timid helpless creatures.
Her face of chiselled solitude
Shrunken in hunger of poverty
Her eyes a glass blowers fire
That melts with accusation.
1997
The Travelosopher's Home
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A new age artist on the path of self-discovery while exploring and experiencing all that life has to offer while sharing it with the world
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editorial / Opinión
talk like you've never talk before.....
Beautiful work! I love that second to last stanza especially 👏
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It was a lonesome day in the east end as I went to spend my new dole money check at the supermarket and there the poor old lady was, staring from the window like a ghost.
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