Goodmorrow Poem by Julian Broadway
Goodmorrow
Light crossed his frame.
Inlays, each way
gave.
To palpable
sensationalism.
Rays contempt
from each murky scent
of rotting pride.
Smoking in the dark.
His lost art;
through yellowed teeth
and smiling decay.
It was never supposed to be this way.
-j.broadway
Saturday, September 11, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: pride,smoking
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8/28/2026 3:54:25 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
