Fallen
By Parson Thru
- 1980 reads
Empty doorways, specialists in matt darkness, never punctured
by a flickering point of light.
Hinges hang forlorn, long-abandoned and bereft of hope.
I’d rather spend a moment in your lightning shadow
than a lifetime lived without it.
Staggering on a path that picks its way through rusting
cables crumbling at the quay
Wearing nothing but the stains of all these words on which I choke.
Sorrow, veiled like empty vestments on a hanging-tree cannot
detain me.
Nothing I can muster will amount to more than flaccid skin,
as worms embarrassed by the morning rain.
Blanched by washed-out sun, holy, ineffectual, to
die beneath a sky that once believed it had the best of life.
Outlawed.
Nothing left but sound.
And the clipped precision of the clock.
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Comments
Feels like a lenten poem, fall
Feels like a lenten poem, fall or loss. So atmospheric, like a ghost town on the edge of a desert, timeless.
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Wonderful writing, PT. 'Worms
Wonderful writing, PT. 'Worms embarrassed by morning rain'....'clipped precision of the clock'...to highlight but a couple, and I admire, greratly, the imagery in, ...'never punctured by a flickering point of light.'
One of your best, for me, at least.
Tina
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I am, thanks, PT...just
I am, thanks, PT...just realised I'm broke. But it's only money, after all
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