Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2018
as reminder
of how cruel the time.
Of how intractable the wind and weather.

I cry the cry of the reformed mean spirited;
the once-unholy-then-unholy-again;
the backslid.
It's been so long since I've sinned,
come short of the glory,
come at all (costs)
It would feel good to make a fist again.

Please render me in subtle shades
when you paint me into your masterpiece;
barely discernable from the canvas.
A ghost in achromatic acrylics.
Busbar Dancer
Written by
Busbar Dancer
Please log in to view and add comments on poems