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A few months I haven't called him

At the beck and call at any hour
And the shortest notice
A dial to him has saved many an emergency

Last night a broken female voice
On the other side of the wire
Mumbled he died on May 13

Left her with three daughters
At forty at short notice

The plumber is dead

Now who would clear
My choked wash basin

The plumber is dead
And I've no other number to call

I couldn't see her face
Gauge the faceless sorrow
At the other side of the wire

The plumber is dead

I must find another
And then rejoice
Forgetting the widow's choked voice
Despite the heart which is froze
Hatred runs fluidly
Like the water in shattered glass
Like the blood in broken bones
Like the flames in our homes    
This hatred
It speaks to me
Like drugs to an addict

When it tells me to shoot
                                         I relapse and
                                       aim for the sky


I said..
In spite of my own humility
Hatred runs deeply
Like the roots beneath the dirt
Like the pain beyond the hurt
Like this poem before your eyes

I despise 
                Way too many lies
                And so little truth
 

I said..
I hate beautiful  
It cripples me deeply  
For you are my pity
My pain and their pleasure

When I am high
                           I'll collapse and fall
                        Far from this place
                        Of rotten bliss


I said..
Look at me        
Blood misrepresents me    
For I am cut differently
This pain isn't felt
Like the emptiness
Residing in your cup
It is felt
Like a toxic
Living inside the gut
Like these words
Traveling directly
Towards the stomach

I mean..
             Although this addiction kills me
           Hatred is also the remedy
          It is all I need to truly appreciate
          The little love I have left.
((Recovery))
A  flock  of  wild  geese
have  just  flown  by.

Very  pleasing  
to  the  eye.

I'm  in  the  heart
of  nature  here.

Quite  content
with  little  fear.

Mother  nature  works  away
something  new  turns  up  each  day.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK. 2016.
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