deep dead

Deep dead.

 

Door of the house no.3 is closing behind.

On the steps a yellow bird named sunshine lying

Dead.

Closes the door, the pitter patter of foot steps

Moist on the wall,

Repetition of life,

Breathing spaces are so small!

I don’t live there,

Neither do you.

But, for the ol’girl it is all.

Smell of fried okra,

Tit bits of singular squabble,

Rolls out of closed window

Like a loose marble.

We played with the marbles.

We talked of a witch.

Which is not far from the truth,

Living amid loveless ness

Is living deep dead.

 

Reviews

[Beautifully Tragic xPoe..]

This piece seems almost haunting to me in some way. Not sure why. Nicely Done.


Rayne