HourglassA Poem by Beccy11pm, way past normal bedtime and my thoughts hang like clouds in a grey, unsettled sky; they are at once visible, yet amorphous, like the wispy tendrils of smoke rising from the stub of a cigar being carefully tended by an old man alone at the bar; He knows my thoughts of course, age alone has given him the answers; and for a time, until he leaves, we communicate without words, the drift of pure Havana fading as the door swings slowly shut on a pale crescent moon. Eventually, it's time for last orders and the realisation of leaving looms large. 'Sweetheart," he croons, (black garbed and so well practised,) "I know its cold outside, but midnight beckons and it's time to go." Such of course, is life, that all too brief happy hour, during which we strive to panhandle just one last free drink, before looking up to the heavens and the wondering of whether or not the other side really does exist.
© 2015 BeccyReviews
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Added on March 5, 2015Last Updated on March 9, 2015 AuthorBeccyUnited KingdomAboutI'm forty four, single and have a lovely fifteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..Writing
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