he has sworn
he would stop this
but once more won't hurt
and this will be the last time
surely the last
~
it is cold out
quiet
there is sound
but receded to the status
of a murmur
his footfalls
occupy disproportionate space
in the stillness
there is no hurry
no direction
measured movement
is enough
in these abandoned streets
where life has retreated
from the fall of darkness
into kitchen and lounge
bedroom and bath
to cook and eat
wash and sleep
argue and love
he knows it is there
feels it radiated
from houses
shadowed against windows
muffled through the air
~
so many times
in the hours after shades
have been drawn
he has paced these streets
felt the stories
whisper into him
secrets unsuspected
only to him
drawing him back again
when he has told himself
he would listen no more
every evening
every house
every last footstep
its own ever-changing story
and he has listened
yes
but this is the last time
he has heard enough
~
-
Author:
Frank Prem (
Offline) - Published: February 8th, 2018 00:06
- Comment from author about the poem: The Book of Evenings was my first self-published collection. The poetry describes events, circumstances, life that may happen between the end of one day and start of the next. I was immensely proud of this work when it was written because these poems contained and reflected my newly discovered 'poetic voice', although the writing was undertaken by my erstwhile counterpart, 'Frank Faust'.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments2
But is it the last time, there is always more to here.
There's always more, GF. But, he has enough ... for a book.
Not enough...for me! Ready for more!
That's the spirit!
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