The Window.A Poem by Thomas FitzgeraldA look at the mundane and the surreal.A stare to space is never coutning thoughts in ones mind, No hidden purpose lurks behind the ever moist windows, Sometimes you really are looking at glass cups so dirty, A carton of milk half empty, half full, stewing as it grows.
Butter tubs of yellow and blue smell putrid to the nose, The steel altar where dishes drain luke warm now serves, Clinking jars splutter jams in droves to sweet to taste, Broken painst sprawled across tibers to old with curves.
Cleaning liquid sits tall with pride as a man stands over children, Plastic hides in every corner of home and room and life, Your widows get wet again and again and again in seconds, Chained to hollow thoughts and minds now twisted in strife. © 2012 Thomas FitzgeraldAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
524 Views
26 Reviews Shelved in 1 Library
Added on February 20, 2012Last Updated on February 20, 2012 AuthorThomas 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
|