Look at the wall of my house
There is not anyone’s face
Only white, clean wall
Like my spleen
My favorite pictures on the wall
They also see me
“I’m glad to see you
How are you?”
And then they also ask me
I don’t understand them any questions
Eyes are the untamed fire
Prometheus gave us fire
So he is being punished by the gods
Still continue, never ending
We must not put out this noble fire
J’ai l’ombre de moi-même
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Author:
Makoto Maruyama (
Offline) - Published: November 5th, 2021 03:37
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments1
yup, over time
some see their walls
get drowned out
by all those cherished pictures
fate, so fit - to gift
and they, sometimes
get overwhelmed,
for fear
of losing those blank surfaces
which once represented,
their individuality and opportunity for choice..
the very Next door, another person
who knows the morbid intimacy
hidden in the word, solitude
wonders, about all the choices
that resulted
in the barren state
of those accusatory, walls
cursing
that flipped coin of ill-fate...
(a great read
thanks for sharing, dear poet)
Thanks a lot for your comment!
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