air water
and a shallow grave



Septimus

Septimus sleeps in halls
where solitude is raw
and local time is left
to its own device

he rolls in a certain tide
across a circus floor
wallowing in the sentiment
of still being here

Septimus is last of his breed
forfeiting his dim heritage
under arches and domes
just to see another day

he is the fly on the wall
the riveting sound of years
tumbling down the stairs
of no more credit




Poetry by Bob
Read 505 times
Written on 2015-10-11 at 23:15

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
I see Septimus as the end of days. He is a "September Song" now confined and looking back on the years and realizing he has sold his soul in return for longevity. Very sad.
2015-10-15


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
A sad poem that leaves the reader to determine just who "septumus" is. For my sense of it, he's an aging gladiator, the last of his breed. Well written Bob!

Joe
2015-10-12