Night Poem by Mpheng Magome
Night
Sitting in a hotel room with wilted yellow roses
and no clocks on the walls,
wondering if 10 floors is enough to take me
should I choose to fall.
He sleeps soundly in the next room as I climb onto the sill,
feel the cold glass against my skin.
For a moment I wonder if he will even stir
when I open the window and let Death in.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/24/2024 11:01:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
