The Third of His Name

Third of His Name

It was autumn.
September.
I think.
A cycle of patterns that repeat,
The secrets hidden in a shade of blue.

He was the Third of His Name,
The first still lingering, but lost.

I did it to avoid the inevitable mistake.
But that’s another story,
For another autumn or two.
A few months left,
Living life like
A photo album.

He was a thief.
He’d take what he wanted,
And I’d demand it back.
Just to be that close again.
A lock-picker,
Sharp, dark metal.

And that lock loosened, for a time,
Releasing the steam,
The sounds of scratches made inside.
Poetry littered the floor of my cell;
Everything looked better then.

The smell of wine and cigarettes.
The third will never replace the second,
And the second never got a proper chance.

Reviews

[Chemical Kitten]

I absolutely love this. Wonderful symbolism and writing. It was almost like reading a story instead of a poem.