I hold my breath.
The night whistle calls.
It's not just any street:
it begins and ends.
Don't run
from the courage you didn't have.
You couldn't have spun a better idea.
Furrows in the garden,
scars on sidewalks.
The ancient trees
watch over you like angels.
The blinds and the lantern
rattling.
And everyone running.
The super attentive one,
asks us for a light.
He doesn't know where he's going.
His haste betrays him.
He counts seconds and words.
The archangel punishes him
when he spies behind the wall.
It leaves him speechless.
He despairs,
but it's unequivocal.
Pedal tractors, hidden.
"It's not me."
"I didn't do anything."
But what if no one is looking for you?
-
Author:
Damaso (
Offline) - Published: April 30th, 2025 23:41
- Comment from author about the poem: The inhabitants of the awning snooping around without being able to see who is coming.
- Category: Short story
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments2
A peak at this poem reveals a few key holes to places a peeping Tom would look. A most interesting write.
Good morning, I'm so glad you enjoyed it. It's so kind of you to stop by and share your thoughts. Best regards.
Excellent write
I'm glad, my friend. A hug. Greetings.
You're welcome
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