Lights are burning in quiet rooms,
where the dead go on living.
They stand so quietly in the the rain,
As the last bus arrives, letting out dark,
Then it speeds away,
a violet cloud lingers in its wake.
My legs begin to tremble,
the driver smiles,
he has earrings of jade and bone,
his face gleams in the heat.
A woman behind begins speaking,
her face as vacant as a cloud,
She puts her hand on my arm,
she whispers the names of flowers,
her scent is oleander and myrrh,
She speaks of graveyards,
with tombstones
covered with lichen,
Mourners are draped in mist,
they are waving
Hello, Goodbye.
The driver turns towards me,
his eyes are now sewn shut,
he tells me to be brave.
I feel palpitations as he speaks.
The woman is now kissing my neck,
She smells of stench and wet earth.
I turn my gaze to the cracked window,
everything shines in the rain.
The lake is black,
The city sinks to its depth.
I won’t be coming back.
-
Author:
TS James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 2nd, 2023 22:15
- Comment from author about the poem: I was first introduced to literature in 7th grade By my English teacher, She drew the blinds and read The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe. Something in me turned that autumnal afternoon, I wanted to be a writer, And darker works appealed to me This is influenced by Stephen King And the great poet Mark Strand Submitted for your approval.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Offline)
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