The Sun A Keyhole Poem by Luke J. Holt
The Sun A Keyhole
awake only moments
too hot for garments
all else are in tunics
feather fronds in apartments
no ladies to nuzzle
with skin thats unwell
its too hot for being
except in my cell
trying to breathe
in this heat where i fell
it burns where im standing
as you hear and you smell
the sun like a keyhole
a keyhole to Hell
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: sun
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4/26/2024 8:25:58 PM # 1.0.0.1119
