The final harvest
Grinds the rust
Of autumn sunsets
Jaded lust
Dust choked light -
Molten gold
Flowing through
The concrete folds
Of broken flesh
Dismembered streets
Fingers losing
Lifes last heat
Breathing harsh
A poison sky
Heaven crumbles
Stifled cries
Bite hard,
Bite bitter
At the hand
That feeds you
Poison
Tears and rends
And builds us
For cages...
Autumn...
Crimson sunset sky
Turning grey
Burnt out, bled dry
Wounded metal phoenix
Paradisial cry
Exhaled...
A hopeless, dusty sigh.













Devious Comments
Comments
--
We didn't give it a mouth so it cannot complain.
Nicely written, as if you had been polishing this for a long time.
--
Nincs isten, nincs végzet,
Nincs béke, sem szeretet;
Csak egy faj vagyunk,
Kit léte fenyeget.
Check out my profile and gallery.
I'm fond of this poem, but it seems to be seldom noticed (i must have picked bad keywords)...Oddly, no, I have not even revised this poem (apart from adding punctuation where i felt it needed some) - i wrote it while waiting for a friend on a rooftop intown.
I'm glad you liked it.
I've had remarks that it does read like a lyric before, but i have never heard of David Drainman. I might go and look him up.
And it's fine not to be at home in poetry - i'm not either, and i write the stuff!
If anything, it has its perks in that you're not thinking in conventions and techniques, but just expiriencing.
Once again, thanks for your time and the fav.
--
Nincs isten, nincs végzet,
Nincs béke, sem szeretet;
Csak egy faj vagyunk,
Kit léte fenyeget.
Check out my profile and gallery.
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