Photographs strobe beneath lids
echo from one year to the next,
determined flashes
regurgitating phantoms,
specks ingrained
self absorbing,
once alive.
Tenderness
captures the black
and the not so white,
smudging realism
torn by rigid belief.
Voices
of the kaleidoscope collide.
© 2009 Michael J. Earnshaw
20/10/2009
Room 119
Ambers light half my night,
spirits lashed consume
Sunday service,
collection tin bankrupt
bar a few pennies, heaven
teasing the misguided notion
of eternity
Gideon sells the lie,
a warrior in God’s name
placed with every sordid interlude
upon the king in room 119,
judged
I grasp the final gasp
Honour quelled with vanity
broken, drowned
as the rolling blanket draws me in,
tears hung by a thread spliced
finely cut, my cross to bear, disdain
tongue draped and dry
upon the desert, each halo alight.
© 2009 Michael J. Earnshaw
spirits lashed consume
Sunday service,
collection tin bankrupt
bar a few pennies, heaven
teasing the misguided notion
of eternity
Gideon sells the lie,
a warrior in God’s name
placed with every sordid interlude
upon the king in room 119,
judged
I grasp the final gasp
Honour quelled with vanity
broken, drowned
as the rolling blanket draws me in,
tears hung by a thread spliced
finely cut, my cross to bear, disdain
tongue draped and dry
upon the desert, each halo alight.
© 2009 Michael J. Earnshaw
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