Forsaken
still she counts the ships-
her thick wool sweater stained red
with the setting sun
–
date night-
she sits at a table
set for one
still she counts the ships-
her thick wool sweater stained red
with the setting sun
–
date night-
she sits at a table
set for one
heavy evening air-
silhouettes of hunting bats
in the fading light
–
drawn curtains-
low clouds
full of malice
slowly fading coals-
the clink of empty bottles
being put to bed
–
indigo sky-
crickets singing
around the campfire
living on the edge –
tasting the forbidden fruit
and consequences
–
future regrets-
I send a drink
down the bar
monsters in my head
clamor at the gates of hell
screaming to be let out
–
the hiss of rain-
slow scratching
under my bed
the edge of the moon
nicks the night sky and reveals
the bare hint of light
–
cloaked in darkness-
betrayed by
a cigarette
clear azure waters
tropical sun overhead
melting my resolve
–
bronzed skin-
one more glass
of dutch courage
late sun at our backs
walking the path before us-
intertwined shadows
–
passing time-
in the corners
collecting shadows
the burning red orb
casts its gaze about the land
hard and unblinking
–
ragweed-
my eyes swollen
and gritty
as the sun goes down-
I turn the final pages
of this well worn book
–
a ashen moon-
mist descends
upon the moors