Last Morning

 

 

Through cold space

We move one more time

Around the Sun

On the last morning of the year

The frigid frost

Lingers in the air

Frozen icicles

Hang from gutters

Sharp as crystal knives

Cutting open

My melancholy mood.

 

Your threat of eviction

Reddened slices of

The arrested joy

Of holidays and smiles

Lay as separated cruelty

Intolerable pieces

Bleeding out

My insecurities

Our residence

Our home

Gutted by your hate.

 

Still I rise up

Shattering your malice

Word spreads

Of your heartlessness

Your tactless move

To remove

A humble family

In winter

During the holidays

On the birthday

Of the Merciful One

You defecate upon.

 

Let this be

My sharpest blade

Striking at

Your corrupt

And greedy soul

Your harlot heart

Your despicable deed

And may ruin

Fall upon your life

A blizzard

Blinding you

With triple misfortune

And utter darkness.

 

Copyright © 2021 Charles Edward York

No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*