Poemhead

Left Behind

It’s not the fist that stings

When the boxing bell rings

Too numb to feel the beating

 

The face that breaks

When the heart gently aches

Composer completely fails

 

The tipped back flask

Fuels the liquid mask

Unable to bear the sorrow

 

Heels on the edge

Tumble over the ledge

Sins written on asphalt

 

Muddy dark waters

Two grieving daughters

A black carriage to get them home

 

Death quiet house

No more crying or shouts

Only rot and broken windows

4 thoughts on “Left Behind

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s