Burn-out

I am caught writing poems
that are by turn bitter
and blackened by apathy.
The dark glint of gold on his nightstand
where I put my earrings,
heirlooms that have seen
too much sin for one day.
The profane silence of sleeping fathers.
The damp faces
of little sons
and the sighs of bygone martyrs
who have sacrificed
enough for
one day.

You see? These lines
are nothing but a witch hunt

and we haven’t caught the bitch
yet.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Burn-out

Ring the Call Button

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s