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Josiah James
Poems
Dec 2009
Echoes of a false Elliot
There is a timid storm
On the unfeeling airwaves
I am the furniture
That lines petty stairways
There is a furious calm
That pacifies the antique
But I lack the intelligence
To be unique.
It is you,
In the hallway,
That heavy oaken scent
Which fills a confused corridor
With echoes, with lament.
Ambiance tears asunder,
A weakened personality.
So I ask whoβs turn it is
β¦To make the tea?
Written by
Josiah James
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