deepundergroundpoetry.com
The last man alive
Why, poet you slay me daily
alone in this nest of emptiness
halls whisper echoes, gusts of ghosts once familiar
the batteries run low, fallen leaves sing for the snow
Scents linger, ashened clouds
something to remember
incomplete portraits, broken tea cups
the storms of torn pages greet me
Words hollow as dead trees
silence haunting for those that see
not enough words left
to say something in twenty seconds or less
Being this psychic a double edged sword
out there in the astral lands connections instantaneous
farewells felt even deeper when returning
is this telepathy real or is this just my insanities
Published 18th Jul 2019
Author's Note
Thinking of my daughter, conversing with her in other realms
Little one you are very powerful
Little one you are very powerful
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The author encourages honest critique.
18th Jul 2019 5:56pm
Every metaphor supports the previous in such evocative detail. It is the kind of thing I call a concatenation of thunders. Just pouring raw onto the page without agenda or pretension, baring the naked soul. I feel pain here, loss. I hear you.
27th Jul 2019 9:11pm
