Man On The Front Poem by Alexandro Johns

Man On The Front



I'm indulgent soldier of feast
staying with no injury
by the forgotten trial
that thump its gavel
in the skull of all lonely men

I don't leave traces nor my abortive clone
in the tale that suffer the latest on row
I see them passing on tin plates
under hermetic lids of silence

At the bottom of a glass
the thirst corrupts me
and I loose my tongue in the hunger of time
with the wrong key of a hidden door

Among hiccupts and sighs
in the valley of fire I shoot at my feet
falling down on a lathe
that charges in human flesh

Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: life and death
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