On Ice.

I watch the glass ease so easily
half empty
a picturesque delusion of happiness,
mocking as the second hand floats slowly by
stuttering at twelve,
my shutters blurring the consequence of who I am

the solitary figure fatigued,
every word dispensed twenty yarns ago
unheard

tears dissipate
desert my sodden sleeve

run faster than every human being
I have touched

my awkwardness laid lame
beneath the star I long for

the temptation of the gutter embraced
childlike
as I dance the forbidden route,
walking the lush green mile hand in hand with you
my eager saviour,
servant to the night we will always be.

© 2009 Michael J. Earnshaw

Reviews

[Floornine]

A lot of your descriptions are very surreal... it's really intesting to read, and I found as I reread it, I pictured something different. I like your style.