deepundergroundpoetry.com
Buoy Bell
They were framed by the fog
And etched into the windows
Their faces hung like portraits
Just floating in cigarette smoke
With murmurs of a better time
Retold on whiskey breath
Dulled by the sound of the buoy bells
That warn strollers to steer clear
Of the smoky shores of empty regret
If Hell were to have a gathering place
It would be at the end of the buoy bell
Just beneath the most Northern star
And etched into the windows
Their faces hung like portraits
Just floating in cigarette smoke
With murmurs of a better time
Retold on whiskey breath
Dulled by the sound of the buoy bells
That warn strollers to steer clear
Of the smoky shores of empty regret
If Hell were to have a gathering place
It would be at the end of the buoy bell
Just beneath the most Northern star
Published 3rd Mar 2020
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