London Poem: Day 78

3 November

The days bow
Like melted glass:
Fussy and delicate,
Yet everything takes care.
But, what becomes of my
Tender state.
It becomes buried,
Living beneath sight
So to conceal the worst
Until finally, it erupts
In some wild upheaval.
For the moment
The days simply roll along
In the same steady pace,
Until silence comes,
Wild and heavy,
And it all spills out.
Glass and heat,
Shattered at our feet.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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