It was a day
Idle in life
Sunlight blocked
Thoughts in strife
A shaking hand
Fingers nicotined
An empty bottle
A glass uncleaned.
An ashtray
Which overflowed
Half cigarettes
Like stubbed toes
A clinging sweat
From wheezing chest
Blood shot eyes
Very little left.
A day in which
The towers fell
The castle walls
Became a self made Hell
Waiting for
A little hope
A sign of peace
A chance to cope.
-
Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: January 9th, 2026 04:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments1
Neglect and abuse lead to deterioration in this poem of literal towers of metaphorical body in either case collapse. Nicely written
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.