the Lamp
such a brightness after dark,like a candle in a window
Just a novelty no one notices,
like L.A. in the October desert.
colorless, inert as the wind,
glowing and functional always
Until the power fades away.
only the blind can see tomorrow.
resting, roosting, the pigeon sits,
preening and scratching its skin
As to this lamp, painted black.
no more sorrow, only light.
Poetry by Morpheus
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Editors' choice
Written on 2010-01-04 at 03:55
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liz munro |
Editorial Team |
ken d williams |
Texts |
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