Consumption speaks
In a rasping voice
Coughing blood
No longer choice
The smell of iron
From vessels deep
Stabbing pain
Lungs to cheek.
White linen soaked
In blood and paint
A half finished work
On easel waits
For another day
If strength returns
Alcohol and pipe
Tabacco burns.
Garrets eye
Lone window from
Comes the light
Of rising sun
In visions dream
Years they roll
Like bloodied spittle
From mouth to bowl.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: February 10th, 2026 03:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Good write N.
Thanking you appreciated as always
Who - or where - is Garret? lol.
wheres wally too ? lol
So nicely worded this tribute that I have to give it a fave it is masterfully done
thanks, its a one I really like, so glad others do too, much appreciated
You are welcome
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