January 31

Strips of trash, like lynching victims, dangle
In the leafless trees. They twitch with every
Puff of wind. The sky's an ashen curtain
Which won't open for a milquetoast sun.
Though winter's only halfway over, it's gone on
For far too long, and, as it has, my hopes
Have shredded, blown up to hang, swaying,
Here and there among the trees.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-01-31 at 22:06

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