A man who keeps tapping
Tapping his foot
Sits in front of me
Of me and my book.
He hears of a knocking
Knocks' echoed score
Constance comes drumming
With a hammerings' roar.
He looks at me earnestly
Earnestly querying
"Do I go through the door
Or do I keep praying?"
No words of comfort
Comfort this man
Still he keeps tapping
Tapping his hand
Bloody hands bleeding
Red Ruby grand.
Yet, he's a Tappin
Tappin a pint
A great guzzled glory
Gloriously high
High on a story
A story of mine.
Time moves past
Passed anchored knowns
Knowing fast
The fasting crone
Hungrily knocking
With hungered bones
Bone am I
I am she
I am knocking,
Mocking,
Starving.
YOU ARE READING
Realms
PoetryA collection of poetry of all the good and bad things. © All rights reserved.
