Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2016
He drives a white I've-a-complex sports car,
and wears a jersian leather jacket,
and a tough guy accent.
He ambles, bow legged,to the box office.
The ******* his arm has a kind voice
And gently lit eyes, like flickering candle light.
She ventures a question.
His dismissive tone comes harsh
to her hopeful ears.
I watch the light fade,
Like the candle is in its 7th hour,
now burning low,
and the power, is still out.
skaldspiller
Written by
skaldspiller
  647
     Winn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems