Saturday, March 17, 2018

Concrete Tomb

Neath an underpass
Sheltered concrete tomb
Lonesome the whistle
Piercing like dark mass
In shadows, I’m home
Chilled winds fill my bones
Knotted fingers clasp
Pull me to her warmth
Still the sounds echo
Desperate in their grasp
Tattered shawl we share
Wistful our minds play
The Prince battles fierce
Dragons in the lair
To make the world safe
Hollow his lips taste
In dreams, festive laid
Golden bowls brimming
Rich creams we make haste
His hunger sated
The stench of charred filth
Smudged noses peering
Fires through the night
Rusted barrel hearth
Homeless candlelight
Beaten she is game less
Angry are her tears
Want for an answer
Resilient unfelled
Aged beyond her years
Tale too familiar
Blended silhouettes
Of faces unknown
Wanting to falter
Dignity repressed
Of prayers, unanswered
Regardless their Faith
Seeking redemption
Cursed is our manse
Wishful for your Grace

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