A House With No Tomorrow Poem by Eillio Imbasciati
A House With No Tomorrow
This misshapen Eden is coming to an end,
It's all past tense right now,
Just waiting for the ink to dry,
The towel to be thrown,
The Game to be called
A house with no tomorrow,
May be a very dangerous house,
But likely only to itself
A backlog of memories to sift through,
All the while the remaining ashes are being cleaned off the last remaining floor
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/13/2024 4:17:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
