Midnight in A Sullen Frame

A Boy With Roses

I woke up to midnight                                                                                                        

In a sullen frame                                                                                                          

(what am I doing?)                                                                                                          

(what am I thinking?)                                                                                              

Fraying in a room of dust                                                                                        

Writing letters for my wounds  


I am taxidermy                                                                                                            

With eyes of a bat                                                                                                            

And a heart                                                                                                                

That can fly and dance                                                                                          

Through nocturnal flames 


I had a dream                                                                                                            

Of a floating butterfly                                                                                                        

Of a stranger                                                                                                                

Of changing                                                                                                                  

That tragic kind of magic                                                                                            

The vanishing glass                                                                                                    

And the smell of orange 


Everyone I know is long gone                                                                                      

And the colours                                                                                                      

They've washed astray                                                                                                

With my tears                                                                                                              

With the sea salt                                                                                                  

With the memories of parties                                                                                          

Into the shadows of loneliness


The music of paper                                                                                                      

The soft traffic outside                                                                                              

Screwing the lid off the bottle 


The sunflowers I'm painting                                                                                      

Stare back at me                                                                                                

Reminding me of grey skies in August                                                                            

New years, new beginnings. 

  • Author: Jordan Cash (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 31st, 2022 16:07
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 64
  • Users favorite of this poem: jarcher54, L. B. Mek.


  • Violet bluebell( used to be yellow rose)

    Nice writing )) lovely use of nature in your writing . We all hope for a better year when things have been difficult . Happy new year

    • A Boy With Roses

      Thank you. Happy New Year and all the best!

    • thinkerbell

      I like your imaginative poetry...and this one is composed so well..Happy new yearšŸ„°

      • A Boy With Roses

        Thank you for the sweet comment. Happy New Year and all the best!

      • Goddess of the Mist


      • jarcher54

        I love following the subtle--and sometimes not-so-subtle--evolutions of your approach. You use the same strong skills in different ways over time. This is both a welcome throw-back to those long, dense structures where images just come pouring down in overwhelming, mesmerizing torrents, and your simpler, more literal and direct poems. This piece is full of personal confession and universal, Blake-like symbolism. It is more controlled, almost fragile, compared to those big roaring blocks of text. Delightful.

        • A Boy With Roses

          Lovely comment, Jarcher. Thank you, X

        • L. B. Mek

          forgive my tardiness, am so glad
          I found these emphatically poignant words
          'That tragic kind of magic'
          I bow to your superior talent dear Poet

          • A Boy With Roses

            Thank you for the lovely comment, and nice to hear from you. I haven't been on here much recently because I'm working on finishing my first collection. Better late than never they say, eh? No need to bow to my talent, you're a very gifted writer yourself. Much love, take care.

            • L. B. Mek

              oh great news!!!
              let us know when it gets released
              so we can support you
              I wish you continued success, dear Poet
              all the best

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