deepundergroundpoetry.com

Flames Burn Quietly (Second Edition)

        
     
       
...walked city concrete        
most of the evening        
(felt like an eternity on the soles)        
       
saw park train station        
busking dancers        
-ladies topless        
beaded ankle bracelets        
on bare worn feet        
rattling chants        
for men in rubber mining boots        
and hard hats        
-keeping rythmic, tenor beats        
       
turned down east street        
giggled        
in a northerly direction;        
the stupidity of        
road names without        
a compass        
or wise man's star        
       
some future genius        
had spray painted        
"in the name of love"        
under the word        
"stop"        
on the road        
       
imagined a stop sign        
all red and white        
once lived on the        
bent, empty pole        
       
turned right        
into president road        
laughed        
at the thought        
no president would come here        
even security police        
would loose their        
cars        
and phones        
to the stale eyes of poverty        
in the cracked        
tarmac        
and missing man-hole covers        
       
a lady walked passed abruptly        
       
bumping me        
to the road        
from the fetid curb        
she        
dropped a note in my hand        
in her haste        
       
I froze        
solid as a bronze statuette in fear        
       
scared to read it        
popped it in my pocket        
briskly making the walk        
a jog    
to the out of town feeling        
       
saw the old church        
caught the bus        
in the nick of time  
(I think)        
       
my watch was gone        
       
that bashful lady        
with the note        
must've been late        
for a very important date        
       
fell into the vinyl        
of the backseat        
as that bus dropped it's clutch        
       
took the folded paper from my pocket        
       
in awe  
she knew my name        
it's printed neatly on the front        
-spelled it right too;        
though horror scores echoed        
it mentions you        
spells your name        
as per your birth scroll        
       
mulled silenced words        
each letter        
and how it fell to place        
       
read it again...      
       
"Employ your time"        
it said        
"in improving yourself        
in other men's writings"        
       
       
-x-        
 
Written by RevolutionAL (Alistair Plint)
Published | Edited 2nd Aug 2018
Author's Note
Letters to Layla.
References made to films, stage plays, literature and people are all fictitious for imagery and metaphore purposes only.
Credit to Socrates for the quotation.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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