SleepyWitch
03-15-2017, 05:19 PM
Feedback, please?
Not the end, after all
11 a.m. in the shade of the museum pillars,
Human Rights etched into smooth white stone.
The drowsy city stirs, cool prelude to a searing day.
As yet, the streets are ours –
morning debriefing on the transience of earthly love.
What would the Renaissance masters make of us?
- - The weary soldier reclining under a sycamore tree,
an adoring nymph draped across his chest
while placid donkeys and parrots look on in the fading light.
Miles amorosus et puella conflagrata.
Or a more modern version: Herzog and Krüger –
the best of vagrant lechery for your entertainment, since 1998.
Duke and Potter: Lost Labour tops the album charts. - -
You smile wryly and we set out.
Another café that smells of old people,
uncomfortable reminder of the passing years.
You are oblivious.
“You can’t break up. I need you around.” you say with a gulp
and that settles it.
Outside, the ant-like shoppers stare.
You have to go and mow the lawn, jog and … stuff,
a to-do list long enough to wrap the void at the centre of the galaxy.
A challenge in the glitter of your eyes, lips curled in a subtle smirk.
“Not here!” you say.
So I salute you,
soldier without a war.
Not the end, after all
11 a.m. in the shade of the museum pillars,
Human Rights etched into smooth white stone.
The drowsy city stirs, cool prelude to a searing day.
As yet, the streets are ours –
morning debriefing on the transience of earthly love.
What would the Renaissance masters make of us?
- - The weary soldier reclining under a sycamore tree,
an adoring nymph draped across his chest
while placid donkeys and parrots look on in the fading light.
Miles amorosus et puella conflagrata.
Or a more modern version: Herzog and Krüger –
the best of vagrant lechery for your entertainment, since 1998.
Duke and Potter: Lost Labour tops the album charts. - -
You smile wryly and we set out.
Another café that smells of old people,
uncomfortable reminder of the passing years.
You are oblivious.
“You can’t break up. I need you around.” you say with a gulp
and that settles it.
Outside, the ant-like shoppers stare.
You have to go and mow the lawn, jog and … stuff,
a to-do list long enough to wrap the void at the centre of the galaxy.
A challenge in the glitter of your eyes, lips curled in a subtle smirk.
“Not here!” you say.
So I salute you,
soldier without a war.