Fringes.A Poem by Thomas FitzgeraldA look at what the mind focuses on in a funeral home, well at least for me, those damn fringes will haunt me forever.Silly, unusual little things those golden fringes, No purpose albeit granting life to a mere breeze, These are a dirty gold old in the way things are, Still they add colour to a room where memories freeze.
Why dark brown of all colours for the last style, Such an ugly way to dress up or down or at all, Knotted wood is never used to caress ones shoulders, Bangles and ornaments don’t hide fashions fall.
To make matters more washed there is the lace, Yes lace to cover up from toe to neck all clothing, Off white and layered the dogma of every sheep, How surrounded we were to this painful loathing.
Now there he is in his coffin all lace and dirty brown, Covered in his last vessel before heading to the hole, Ah yes the fringes now I see the add delicate pattern, A comfort of sorts to guard one’s eyes or his soul? © 2018 Thomas FitzgeraldAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorThomas FitzgeraldWexford, Leinster, IrelandAboutTo all who know by now - I love you. For those that don't, I review a lot of work on here, and I expect the same in return, friend me but make sure to have conviction! I'm a horror writer mostly bu.. more..Writing
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