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ormondPoems
In the house of the unsaid Tears are glass beads that drop The ***** on the bone china Blood spittles the lips, hair Raises the dead the cut Rosary roils and dents Harmony’s rumour spouts In the sink. The clock’s twitching Strikes a mongoosed hour. And the scattered stations run The rude wood splinters As the unsaying are floored Clouded eyes pain the glass Outside the house, bare Trees are leaved with ravens.
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Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
House of the Unsaid
In the house of the unsaid Tears are glass beads that drop The ***** on the bone china Blood spittles the lips, hair Raises the dead the cut Rosary roils and dents Harmony’s rumour spouts In the sink. The clock’s twitching Strikes a mongoosed hour. And the scattered stations run The rude wood splinters As the unsaying are floored Clouded eyes pain the glass Outside the house, bare Trees are leaved with ravens.
#love#sorrow#lovers#confusion#surreal#metaphysic
ormond
Written by
ormond
Irish
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
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