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Donall Dempsey
Poems
Apr 2018
LET SLEEPING PTERODACTYLS LIE
LET SLEEPING PTERODACTYLS LIE
Rusted scythe
perched on a nail
high up on a wall
a sleeping pterodactyl.
I can't stop myself touching
it to see if it is - real.
Smacks its lips
laps up my blood
from my foolish fingertip
deceived by shadows.
It's grin glinting
the smile come alive.
The ghost of a horse
whinnies in the stable
that's gone long gone
the then merging into the now.
Or maybe Mr. Death
too tired to go on
hangs up the instrument of his trade
time to retire the old bones.
“No way to make a living!”
I back slowly away
blinded by the sunlight
that screams. . ."Run!"
Written by
Donall Dempsey
Guildford
(Guildford)
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