Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2013
Thus,
wreathed in smoke and
grasping one bony hand in the other
you realize
the joke's on you, the right answer's always
on display somewhere too far to go,
the soft sounds in the walls are mice not benevolent spirits
and endless delights lurk exclusively
on screens that
show only shadows
so
you sit and wonder,
sit and think
how sorrow can be both silly and numbing.
Alia Sinha
Written by
Alia Sinha
447
   st64
Please log in to view and add comments on poems