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Sheol
He held a flower to his chest
and dreamt of rocking chairs. The rest
he needs is having an affair
with time. These God-damn birds prepare
to wake the morning. His request
for silence is declined. No breast
to lay his head upon, no guest
to gum of life. Does no one care
he held a flower?
His life’s been long, he would attest
to that, to long and short, he’d jest.
Perhaps his games of solitaire
have reaped this misfortune; a prayer
unheard, a life denied, depressed;
he held a flower.
By Ryan Barrientos Wilbur
Okay, since I could not 'follow' directions. This is my new attempt.
by Deadpoetsmilk on June 23 2007