Treasure Island

Uriah Hamilton


(1) Erase


Nine o'clock in the morning
and the dawn is void of birds
or any vague remembrances of birdsong.

Towards the end of November,
all emotions felt cold
like being homeless in the rain.

There have been days
where I wished I was a stranger
waiting for an approaching train,
always trying to escape
a perpetually unhappy brain.

City frozen over and unrelenting pain,
have you ever dreamt you were embraced
by your murderer again?

It's difficult to distinguish
between right and wrong,
daylight and nightfall
when every window into the soul
has been covered over and painted black.

There are passengers at the bus station
returning home from a distant place
and others seeking any destiny
for their memory and history to erase.

Submitted: Sunday, February 02, 2014
Edited: Monday, February 03, 2014

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem ((1) Erase by Uriah Hamilton )

Enter the verification code :

  • Ivory Irving (2/15/2014 4:40:00 PM)

    There have been days
    where I wished I was a stranger
    waiting for an approaching train,
    always trying to escape
    a perpetually unhappy brain.

    City frozen over and unrelenting pain,
    have you ever dreamt you were embraced
    by your murderer again?

    This whole part. No words to explain. Amazing. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

Poem of the Day

poet William Wordsworth

I

I AM not One who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk.--
Of friends, who live within an easy walk,
Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight:
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]