Fresh Cement - Poem by Dan Brown
a billowing cloak; translucent white, yet
quick to become opaque.
an enemy; a mass of torch-wielding words
with an aim to quash it.
alive; living in the lull in conversation, or
the silent responses to questions.
a secret; few know that Honesty likes
to contradict and confuse.
hard; a rough coarseness that is, so often,
cold to the touch.
no allies; few are prepared to
fight for it’s cause.
soft; a smooth fluidity, comforting
and volumed with substance.
such scent; fresh-mown grass and rose perfume,
fused with a warm Summer’s breeze.
my lover; waits by the radiator
for me to arrive home each day.
a treasured possession; a flawless mirror
in which to admire a flawless reflection.
jealous of nothing; not vain, yet knowing
of being better than all else.
a loud sound; a booming voice which sometimes
lessens. To a quietly-spoken calmness.
the sand beneath your toes on the beach; broken into millions,
and distributed by Nature’s Forces.
red string In it’s pockets; used to bind
and mend the Engine.
a thumbprint in fresh cement; innocent and easy to form,
with a potential for immortality.
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