Empty
Pockets, down and out
The bones of resolution fractured
Or returned to jelly as
In the womb once they were soft
You can’t
Keep looking up when you’re falling
Below the bottom of the pit
You’re like the loose change
Gathered by a tramp
Who, by cruel fate
Wore holes in his tattered jacket
The bowl of a lifetime
Littered with change
Without change
In fortune
If predestination was doomed
From the start
You’ve finally been caught
Now, my son.
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Hi Tinkerbell
ReplyDeleteI like the sat in the gutter looking up at the stars feel to this poem. Most of us have been there so would ,I presume, strongly relate. Stylish rendition. I enjoyed.
Max down the drain Shallow