Old fingers...

Old fingers
gather the button
to twist and
manipulate
the tiny hole
from which
this plastic
fastener
snuggles.

Even the
cotton thread
stretches far
beyond its
capability.
Fingers ply
and turn
and squirm.

Another eve
by the window,
sitting on the
corner of the
slumbering
bed in his room,
twisting and
tugging at
the button's
tense strength.

Old fingers
never bend,
nor do they
twist easily.
Indeed a
sight to see
as the button
falls freely
to the floor,
never to be
bound again.




Poetry by Morpheus
Read 592 times
Written on 2008-11-25 at 06:15

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liz munro The PoetBay support member heart!
This is so cool.

Love the images of
that freedom wanting button :)

~L.~
2008-12-25


Morpheus
The it's is fixed. Its now an its...:D
2008-11-25