Night in the depot
She pulled hard,like she was fighting the cigarette,
her mouth flying open,
snapping shut,
and two long streams of smoke,
like forgotten sins shot from her nose.
Her arms twitched under the leather,
her black,
booted,
feet,
danced a poverty stricken tap,
to a tune played out against the stained concrete.
Hair,
like black greasy curtains,
cut crooked around her face,
hung limp and tangled like forgotten fishing lines,
catching nothing but the breeze.
I threw out my glance,
painting my picture of her,
trying to summerise her ugly features,
with my own ugly words.
If i failed i can only pray,
down on knees,
that carry nothing but a tired body from here to you,
and away again,
like the tide of a dying ocean,
slowly lapping the shores of a body,
destined to be thrown out of reach,
like the shadows of a slow sinking sun,
falling hopelessly behind a string of mountains,
tall and strong,
yet far from anything i can say,
as the golden glow,
like hidden skin,
sweet and wet with sweat,
freezing over with a farewell snow fall,
slowly falls and stumbles over the rocks and sands of a body,
that brought me to come,
down and through the clouds,
to sleep in the warm grassy edens of goodbye....
Poetry by Will Hamilton
Read 704 times
Written on 2005-07-13 at 23:51
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