A stab in the dark 10
10
Dark deeds wring sweaty hands
where another man just would say:
"It costs to harbor a volatile spirit
under a capricious skin! Flee!"
Like a smoldering fire at midnight
cold December crumbles.
Night abducts all frenzy,
seeing carries mist to sleep.
The math and the result
beds with the very best of our age,
cheered on by the lazy,
by eyes of unfocused sleep.
Tonight all content is external.
The speed of the thermometer
is certainly of no avail
to the no longer alive,
nor do they aspire physic content.
Winter breaks chilly seals
with light from a singular fire.
The touch, soft and discrete,
speaks of an old man in a cave.
A ray of hope cringes,
eats light, stops
moments before winter strays.
Drab sarcophaguses of night
slide into a flake white openings;
a dark eye, lost,
feeds on diatribes. There is no solace.
Who calls for more when it is dark?
Shadows of guilt flicker in rooms
where no house wolf ever reigned.
The air smells of more snow,
there are no regrets,
only tiny diamonds of snow.
Tonight he is rich.
Poetry by Bob
Read 1101 times
Written on 2011-09-14 at 16:31
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