Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
k-w-blenkhornPoems
While washing tarnished hands; The waters run black, spiraling down An even darker abyss. Call it a drain. Fitting for the moment just Before the tub empties And the dejected gargle rings out. All hope and sense of a future drained; Never to escape the tomb that is this earth. Dirt and rock; rock that fuel fire Paves the way to opportunity But not worth the blood it takes To retrieve it. Whose folly? Whose fault? We are now stunted, brought to A sudden and violent halt. Brings to mind one of many Bad clichés about eggs; Numerical or transportation. Is that how they felt? Cracked, spilling themselves But still not able to stain The black gold, the treasure’s of the deep. Not caved in, but bottoms up Digging deep enough to reverse gravity Calling out; “That was our livelihood those where their lives neither will return, neither could survive.”
0
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
The Great Collapse
While washing tarnished hands; The waters run black, spiraling down An even darker abyss. Call it a drain. Fitting for the moment just Before the tub empties And the dejected gargle rings out. All hope and sense of a future drained; Never to escape the tomb that is this earth. Dirt and rock; rock that fuel fire Paves the way to opportunity But not worth the blood it takes To retrieve it. Whose folly? Whose fault? We are now stunted, brought to A sudden and violent halt. Brings to mind one of many Bad clichés about eggs; Numerical or transportation. Is that how they felt? Cracked, spilling themselves But still not able to stain The black gold, the treasure’s of the deep. Not caved in, but bottoms up Digging deep enough to reverse gravity Calling out; “That was our livelihood those where their lives neither will return, neither could survive.”
Written by
k-w-blenkhorn
Canadian
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem