E Sharp

E Sharp

Baked in the sun

to the bone, brittle,

walking where a sunset 

once was

and will never be again.

The ground is bitter

on the tongue 

the light,

or lack there of,

crashes on def ears.

And the water is sweet;

not so much

as salt and wine,

tracing the words in 

dead skin and dust.

Believing the world will end

on a trumpeters last flat note.

A pocket full of memories.

And a photograph of a cemetery. 

Reviews

[Jamestown]

Well penned!
The wording is fantastic, created clear imagery:)
Thanks for sharing and b-blessed!

[.]

~~ wow... what a stunning piece of writing... ~~ the images are sharp and stark... and yet so very poetic...

[Abigale LeCavalier]

Thank you so much! :)

[.]

~~ you're very welcome... :)