In every room
I've lived in,
all the dilapidated shacks
over the years that I've
stayed in, always had a
brown spider that crawled
the walls.
It had a little suitcase.
I thought to myself that it
planned on leaving, moving to
someplace better.
It never did.
It always just set up shop, and
spun a web in the corner and caught
flies, and occasionally a small moth.
On drunken sad moon nights,
I sang dirges to the trapped bugs.
They smiled and laughed, even though
they were dying.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 26th, 2025 09:55
- Comment from author about the poem: Here is a link to a brand-new poetry reading I did. It\\\'s available on my you tube channel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cz70MOS_JX8 I have three books available on Amazon: Sleep Always Calls, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, and It\\\'s Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse.\r\n#www.thomaswcase.com
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 42
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Priya Tomar
Offline)
Comments6
A gritty raw poem of living. I loved its realness. Loved it
Thanks
Excellent work, Thomas. Raw and real. Love it! 🌹👏
Thank you.
You are most welcome, my friend!
A poem reality for some, when you hit that stage in life, the bugs can become your only friends and companions, nicely expressed write
I appreciate it.
You are very welcome
Every Poem a Story . Good one.
Thanks
Can almost visualize the little guy- so well has he been described 👍🏻
Thank you.
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