Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
She labors to smile, irony draws lines on her embittered face, thick dark iron bars, temporarily cage pain; yet the risk the two run is toxic. soon they 'd have to face it, unmistakable indications reveal, her velvet voice over the phone, conjured up an image, drastically different, a sadness now faintly asks his permission to spread quickly, confused he postpones, buying time. guilt, a shaggy, smelly, hound suspicion, its dominant trait, lurks sniffing around, the table they mutely sit, like prisoners of unburied past convoluting the plot, by playing ***** tricks. the air thickens chocking both, the haunt leers, licks its paws in glee what is its intention? "You look more or less like him, my former lover- I try to erase from memory by every which way possible, sorry about that, but i can't help it, he traded in pain of many kinds ingeniously, nothing else he did" she shoots from the hip. memory of an evil genius was quickly resurrected by him from the assortment of stereotypes, vision of caravans transporting gun powder kegs of bad memories, flashed he had a match stick handy. soon, everything exploded to culminate; darkness devoured all,  breaking limits. caravans slog towards horizon, one after other still.
0
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
The blind date
She labors to smile, irony draws lines on her embittered face, thick dark iron bars, temporarily cage pain; yet the risk the two run is toxic. soon they 'd have to face it, unmistakable indications reveal, her velvet voice over the phone, conjured up an image, drastically different, a sadness now faintly asks his permission to spread quickly, confused he postpones, buying time. guilt, a shaggy, smelly, hound suspicion, its dominant trait, lurks sniffing around, the table they mutely sit, like prisoners of unburied past convoluting the plot, by playing ***** tricks. the air thickens chocking both, the haunt leers, licks its paws in glee what is its intention? "You look more or less like him, my former lover- I try to erase from memory by every which way possible, sorry about that, but i can't help it, he traded in pain of many kinds ingeniously, nothing else he did" she shoots from the hip. memory of an evil genius was quickly resurrected by him from the assortment of stereotypes, vision of caravans transporting gun powder kegs of bad memories, flashed he had a match stick handy. soon, everything exploded to culminate; darkness devoured all,  breaking limits. caravans slog towards horizon, one after other still.
k-balachandran
Written by
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem