In the snow flecked coal shed
lies hide
their truth dank, wicked
without hope of forgiveness
In the snow flecked coal shed
Imperious
the fib teller recounts
beastly days out back
when, with, hands lost in carbon black
he cleaved to his angel
Monstrous sweetness
A sound, an energy of wings perhaps
releases the captured
and off she flies
with coal black lies dissipating into a white sky
Angela Norris
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2 comments:
At last some poetry! Wonderful!
Thank you Anon.
Poetry comes and goes, when it comes it is, as you say, wonderful, when it goes however, it's a sad loss.
Posts about homelife are satisfactory outlets for creativity but nothing beats a few late night confessions.
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