Death at high noon

The sweat of my loins
do not compare to your anguish
as you dangle your shards,
never dreaming of back yards
where one is all there is.

Derelict words of fraud and thievery
frolic in digital water silence
where moth-eaten cheerleaders
take a naked ball for a good time.

In dispersed need I will perish.
I will breach sanctuaries
on feeble, ephemeral afternoons
with see-through intentions
breaking like mist in the distance.




Poetry by Bob
Read 733 times
Written on 2007-09-07 at 16:52

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David L Wright
I'm not certain of your meaning, but the piece is interesting. The title suggests an end to something perhaps life or perhaps the day. I'd be interested in knowing. Thanks and happy trails.
2008-01-31