#1
i find myself in a light spring drizzle
in this dark crevice of the city where
the garbage goes. i stand in the rain
for a moment. the city sort of exhales
around me and i become caught in
its rusted tendrils. it’s getting dark later,
now, and the cold has seeped back into
the floorboards, lying dormant for a few months;
a few years; a few decades
and i feel the lines in my face
drawing themselves up and down
like deep canyons, chiseled away
by the flow of thoughts and prospects
and yearnings and years. i stand
in the light drizzle and the droplets
fatten and edge towards my chin
and sort of pool there. years.
it hasn’t gotten easier. and looking up,
the drizzle caresses my neck
with its long, cold finger.
(years)
Last edited by hippieboy444 at Apr 2, 2015,
#2
On reading the words used in the poem, i am really amazed on thinking about the poet's literary skills.
#3
Quote by joangorham
On reading the words used in the poem, i am really amazed on thinking about the poet's literary skills.