Morning on the Keys, seventy three degrees, lobster omelet with conhaque and Gruyere cheese in the shade of banyan trees
Cuban cigar on the table, Johnnie Walker blue label, pretty young wife, stole of sable, yacht moored by cable
It was winter they said, satin sheets of red spread as he lay overfed on his king-size bed, seconds into hours sped
Outside a breeze, inside him a disease, that try as you please, no one flees even sailing through the solace of these Keys
Inside no one read how he bled dread, from which he fled, that led to him putting a piece of lead in his head
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: September 29th, 2026 03:13
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
- In collections: Illusions, masks, Perception.
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Comments3
A most interesting write my friend, is it based on a character in reality ?
Good write SB.
Amazing imagery and language, it's amazing how many morals this poem has looking closely, everything pretty on the outside whilst the inside is black. Wonderful poetry dear sorrenbarret kudos on the finale. 🌹
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