I am a mongrel

I am a mongrel lost in the rendering of winds,
a frown unsettling alleys with ordinary vile.
I am the other side of victory, of mislaid encounters,
obscene in the pale painted face of the insipid one,
blocking the gutter with dark rain and regret.

Minions of echoing voices roll with early sewage tide,
amputees march in the dead of winter calling.
No day will compensate or vilify the outcome
of trees with claws that end with night's falling.
I am a mongrel lost in the rendering of winds.




Poetry by Bob
Read 468 times
Written on 2010-11-23 at 21:48

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John Ashleigh
The language is very mature - and the mood is from something with and without emotion. Infact, this poem is brilliant. Thankyou for sharing.

Regards,
John.
2010-11-24