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Bedlam

by Ian Whiteley

entry picture

Bedlam

 

The greying morning

Barked like a dog

Trapped in a well

A sound so hollow

It shattered glass

In the cabinet where

She kept her memories

Tied in knots

 

The braying moon

Shone silver needles

Into the face

Of the weeping child

Screwing its hooks

Into soft flesh

Making the lanterns

Quiver with rage

 

In the ragged garden

Tendrils...

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Tuesday 11th February 2020 12:08 am

death   deathbed   insanity   loss

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