I hear a poet reciting
In the room above
The painter is coughing
Red raw blood
The prostitute below
In a single room
Welcomes clients
In a dim lit gloom.
Outside at the tavern
Sailors fight
Breaking bottles
In an angry clash
Alcohol swilled
Uniforms torn
Police arrive
In blue lights caught.
The heavy night
Sighs its relief
As dawn approaches
And art it sleeps
Cell doors slam
Still the sailors fight
The night time people
Now in dreams flight.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Online) - Published: January 31st, 2026 04:47
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Lorenz
Online)
Comments2
A single scene in metaphor as all dreams are speaks to the reader in images. A lovely write well composed a fave
Thanking you, much appreciated as always
You are most welcome
Rooms filled with vacuum and fury !
correct my friend, thanks for reading, much appreciated
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