walking down my late days

walking down my late days
with one foot in the sky
the other in a broken boot
singing in my guns like fireflies
at the break of night

there's no direction left
just the notion
days are ticking bombs
in a game of birthdays
leaving me all too fast

dereliction is the final trap
carrying no more promises
is an old eye wheezing
a tired and sore back
supple is no more

spring is still a promise
of mystic mushrooms
that will redeem all days
into a new calendar
where I am not



Poetry by Bob
Read 584 times
Written on 2017-04-26 at 13:39

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The "golden years" have a sheen all of their own, but "golden" is not exactly how they are. All great stanzas, but I like this one: "there's no direction left
just the notion
days are ticking bombs
in a game of birthdays
leaving me all too fast"
Ashe~~
2017-04-27