Clamped in a cold stream
while a white shirt
a crisp white shirt
waits.
You can walk while I just waste.
And carnival ties
are undone for good
at the bottom of my bed.
Any daydreams
left undone
are fastened away
not exposed ever again
to the wrinkling light
of growing pain.
Tidied up
from my breakfast bar brain
‘til you eat again……
or until the rain turns red.
-
Author:
Keith (
Offline) - Published: January 26th, 2022 05:24
- Comment from author about the poem: Not an easy one for me to choose a category...it fits several...no comment today....this is for the reader to interpret how they wish given their current state of mind....for me it's too personal to say anything. Thank you for visiting my page.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 47
Offline)
Comments1
Yes -- when carnival's over reality can hurt - - an intriguing read Keith - I see a parting when a lonely day-dreamer needs more - -- breakfast for one pains but waiting 'til rain turns red must bring only heartache. Methinks time to move on from that clamped cold stream. Just my take on interpretation of course but your short-lined lament suits a slow reading perfectly.
Cheers, Fay. Appreciate your time.
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