Inert

We are still.
We will go no further.
There will be no more strings
Stretched through these fingers.

No more no more.

We are waiting innocently again for
The one who will save us.
Such a dangerous one always
Raised in desperate hope surely awaits us.

It seems I am too knowing...
I can't like you when I see
The things you are prepared to do.

Off you go.
As you think there is no more.



Poetry by jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 480 times
Written on 2012-01-18 at 00:07

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
People become forgetful after sixty years. Of course, here in the USA, nobody likes to study history, so we get the same sort of monsters every four years. Funny, this latest looks like a Newt.
2012-01-23


Rob Graber
Wow, this is wonderfully ominous; the mood makes me think of Yeats' "Second Coming"!
2012-01-18