A Rainy September

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This rose for all the world
For you,
These tears for all the dead,
Those empty words of morning tide
This ever-present dread.

Those cloying smells of perfume,
On the dresses of the rich,
This workman stumbling
homeward:
His body in a ditch.

 

September's moon still shining,
On this old planet's doom,
Her wind and tide conspiring:
A chill invades the room.

 

 

◄ Feed your head

My Sweetheart the Drunk ►

Comments

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Vautaw

Tue 24th Nov 2020 04:33

Reminds me of the crimson rose from Beauty and the Beast. Will the dark spell be broken in time? 🥀 Beautiful poem John. 🖤

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Paul Sayer

Sun 22nd Nov 2020 12:53

"Between Neurons and Narratives; I was born, dreamt and died".

Sing me the blues, I love your concluding line.

Paul.

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