Ian Keenan


It Is September - Poem by Ian Keenan

You, who have seen the
White and redness
Of that hour,
Who set the circle
And primed the bud,
When sensibilities
Felt gifts ridiculous
So great the gap;
You could not know.

Though insidious her coldness,
Enchantment turning
Tinsel,
The silence chilled by
Silent disbelief,
For the most part
No great thing,
Your losses were your challenge.

But ash, now,
Numbs the fire,
Your innocence all alabaster,
The circle cracked and
Dead the bud;
Your pathos is
Your own offence;
Unfrocked,
Your confidence corrupt,
You pass your time,
Wilted,
Waiting.

Topic(s) of this poem: poem


Comments about It Is September by Ian Keenan

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags


Poem Submitted: Monday, December 7, 2015



[Report Error]