Virgin white sheets.
His icey feet.
Two bodies meet.
“Why are you never warm?
I feel a storm coming.
I see dark clouds.
Do you hear the thunder’s voice angry and loud?
But no. though the sky is forlorn,
There will be no storm.
The weather needs to break.
This humidity I can not take.
I long for the cooling rain.
It will cleanse my fevered brain.
No, please,
your rough paws I do not need!”
Sense loses itself in desire.
Man burns on passion’s pyre.
Love’s heat inflames,
Befuddles his brains.
Come the cooling rain,
He feels only shame,
Yet will return again,
To joy and pain
Tentative knocking on a suburban door,
Innocence enters but departs no more.
Clothes scattered on the bedroom floor,
Dreams shattered to be dreamed no more.
Yeats is dead.
Poetry has fled.
Nonsense fills the collective head.
The falcon has flown.
Chaos is sown. .
We reap the whirlwind alone.
(http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172062?gclid=COymhN2TiscCFaYfwwodsmoO_Q).
Girls apply their masks.
No one asks.
A rumpled bed.
The words unsaid.
The night before
Is a closed door
To be opened no more.
The joyless kiss.
The passing lips.
The empty bliss.
No, not this!
Two girls hesitant to dance.
He seeking a kind of romance.
They with an eye to the main chance
Reluctantly advance.
Lonleness kills,
Seeks solace in thrills.
Emotions shut down,
A crisis profound,
Seed spills on stoney ground
The wind blows through the park,
My mood is bleak and dark.
Teenage voices glad,
What hope do they have?
In a world gone mad,
Should not one be sad?
The weather speaks to me,
Why can not man be free,
Flying with the breeze,
Amongst the dancing trees.
Familiarity makes the unbearable so-so.
Music from a phone playing.
Exploring hands.
Acrobatics in the bedroom.
The brook, once babbling is choked with weeds.
Diseased trees.
Fat brown paper envelope.
Shopping is the new religion.
