a solitude so grand.
purched on the leaves of peach
pure white with peanut shells
each their own on a ledge of knotted fur.
spurred on by grease
not by stealth nor hunger of a cat
nostalgia runs it's fingers through a breath of metaphors.
between two indifferent minds
each in turn spawn fossils
and pawn their non-existence
for a pocket-full of change.
and how the each and every man
clambers high on feet and hands
to the shadow of a hip
where stalks the mize of emptyness
pressed as flowers turning through a grave.
how still the burning wood stands tall and proud.
as sailors jumping ship
one-by-one we serve the coloured pebbles of a god
with his money in our eyes of blue and grey.
all things that sink
with a merry-rose twelve times the size as we.
let loose the words of he, immortal son.
there is never a good time to die.
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 7th, 2025 07:30
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Cassie58
Offline)
Comments4
A magnificent very beautifully penned price of poetry my dear friend. Loved every line down to the last kudos. 🌹
Strangely this one made sense to me. A kaleidoscope of metaphors that if turned in the right way make a beautiful and meaningful design
You are so right, there is never a good time to die. Taken by your wonderful poetic expression and fine lines laden with imagery. Love the alliteration in the first stanza. This poem reads so well out loud. Fab poetry Melvin. Have a good weekend.
"nostalgia runs it's fingers through a breath of metaphors" is a fine metaphor on it's own. very nice.
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