Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2023
In this bungalow bathed with mud and leaves
Moss seeps through fissures in the walls
Sprawling vinery rips through paint beneath.
As my headdress rusts on the window sill
I glance to hush its last scorning glares
Hidden in this hammock, outlining my fears.
This sunken land fails evermore
How steady the brick counts its last dusk
How many more days to tend to them?
Old tapestry hanging above untucks,
Undone by the collapsing roof.
Leave me here a bloodied man, squashed by rock.
Limping, gushing, dripping in my demise.
Neuvalence
Written by
Neuvalence  22/M
(22/M)   
356
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems