
Veranda : © g.s.koch
the lamp post
would burst its faces
this night, when
I’d wake up
from my sleep of haunted lights,
breaking this mirror
.
of night lights,
to be the gleam of
the mad moon,
the rife ruins,
of the past breathing in me
and sighing bright lights,
.
smoldering
this night into flames
of a fuel,
of an ache,
that which burns it all with me
into lights of night,
.
nothing left
but the acrid smell
of sly smoke,
of dying blocks,
spewing fumes of burned up night,
black with the lamp lights
.
For Bastet’s Shadorma Photo Prompt. And yes, I traveled the road of rhymes… I am a rule breaker. 😉 Hope that is alright.
I think it’s nice to break the rules now and then. Quite a haunting write anmol.
LikeLike
These are exceptional I mean truly astonishing work =)
LikeLike
I agree with the ladies who have commented before me. There is a haunting spirit about this poem, but in spite of (or perhaps because of?) the lack of a positive form there is a continuity that is very revealing.Thought was never broken, and I love that in poetry. In fact it seemed to me that the irregularity gave increased importance to the beginning of each new section, much as an exclamation point or a question mark might do.
LikeLike
haunting is a good word for it…the smoldering lamps there in the end…the past that decides you for you…breathing into you….
LikeLike
powerful…I like what you’ve done with the prompt, you’ve got a great command of the shadorma!
LikeLike
I love this…you’ve turned it into a haunting story…well done!
LikeLike
Hauntingly beautiful! 🙂
LikeLike