A bowl
Just a bowl
Empty but for a rotting pear
and the core of a once green
apple
The shadows pass over this table
as the setting sun drifts into
the abyss of an Autumn sky
Darkness now
The bowl all but vanishing
in the solitude of a moonless
transgression
The bottle
Oh yes, the bottle
I can see it's outline
in the forgotten drag
of the day's last cigarette
Amber solace to sooth
a tortured mind and numb
a jaded soul
Until morning...
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Author:
Coyote (
Offline) - Published: August 5th, 2021 15:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments1
they Quench our thirst, serving us Bowls
naively, we lap it up
till, they callously Decide
we're not needed
then all we know, are the empty Bottles;
as a remnant carcass
of that Kindness
we assumed was ours...
Now, we search for whatever
can help us traverse
life's, bleak blanket of Night!
'I can see it's outline
in the forgotten drag
of the day's last cigarette
Amber solace to sooth
a tortured mind and numb
a jaded soul
Until morning...'
(a wonderful poetic read
triumphantly abstract, yet grounded
in all-things tangible and real
thanks for sharing, dear poet)
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