It was a hum,
then Poseidon's orchestra was let loose.
I was the virgin villa on the seashore,
ravaged by brute force of the waves.
January's drooping eyes saw my clandestine sorrow,
the word was spread from shore to shore.
Poseidon was the capital ,
receding tides here clawed at my veins and foamed.
My hymen knot lay ruptured there,
my pillars bloodied by the night wind's prowl.
I was a derelict pawn in nature's cruel chessboard,
waves of memories had shunned me.
That December,
the lighthouse was a beacon no more.
Erect in his diffident indifference,
he was gendered by a testament of howling ego.
I am stripped of all my glory now,
the private rattle of croaking walls is my sigh.
oh, how I stand as a broken body drying my bloodstains,
as the sun shields me from daytime intruders.
......
YOU ARE READING
WHISTLING CHIMES
PoésieTHIS IS AN ASSORTMENT OF POEMS THAT VARY IN MOOD, THEME AND VISION. VERSATILITY IS MY COMMON AIM AND I HAVE POURED OUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO EACH OF THESE WORKS. I HOPE MY VISION FINDS A MIRROR IN YOUR HEARTFELT RESPONSES. LET THIS POETIC JOURNEY...
