Though perhaps death may share the blame -
I fail to accept logic, reason, sorrow as excuses;
my Herman Melville, my Readers Digest Guide to Better Gardens,1972,
are these merely bystanders to a shard of sudden stroke that bites the
lives from a clutch of barbed-wire chests,
that flinch at the snap of slipping bone
on the shiny tiles of clickety-clack suburban homes - white wine everywhere?
No, I believe not.
I peer through the tortures of whipped-tight blinds,
of lights ashamed to be clothed in the scarlet sins of red,
I see my pile, and they see me, the bridge of death and darkness
ropeless in-between;
Jump I say, jump I tell them, perhaps they'll die too,
my curtain's love for glimpsed and clutched
street-lamp light
as wordless and un-edited as ever
Really a beautiful piece of poetry, written with a tinge of humour. Well thought out and nicely penned. Thanks for sharing and do remain enriched.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you for the kind words 😀