Odorless color streets
where a few ghosts linger
in a state of limbo ...
Pass a girl with sepulchral eyes
in search of hours and love .
Sadness doesn't contemplate
reflections frozen in the pavement.
Cripples drink beers in a gloomy bar,
strained wrecks as deranged clocks...
Doom city like a shoreless bitch .
Tears of starry drops of sand
under a polluted bed
and this fatigue of desolate music ,
damned blues -style score ,
pastel grey light suicide ,
roof without a note of you !
Do fools still have faith ?
I besseech you god of the gutters
give me strenght to end it all
in these cradleless avenues ...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 1st, 2024 05:13
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments2
A poem in muted tones. An atmosphere of despair, but there's something mesmerizing about these bleak images.
I especially like this line: “strained wrecks as deranged clocks...”.
The streets of Brussels are full of suicides...
Oh, but this is as ghastly and macabre as everyone was begging for last month, the cruel reality of these facts beautifully rendered poetically to enchant the facts which all ere wanting do not truly care to face. Thank you very much for sharing.
Metaphor of an organism eaten by an inner evil .
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.