mindless wanderings
through the crowd
wearing corpse faces,
hollow eyes.
I see a man aglow
alone,
unhindered
by the company.
He plays a flute,
his mustache
tingling wood,
my soul.
Who is he
in this impenetrable
darkness
of these lives?
Robotic movements
go on, devoid of
any recognition
for him.
He bursts into
flames, the arcs of
revival, everything
ends.
The end begins,
bones litter
the pathways
of my mind.
.
For dVerse, where we are writing tenWord poems, a form devised by Mr. Brian Miller. He says, “I call this one on tenWord, because after ten words no one is listening anyway, or already formulating their response…and what can you say in ten words…”
I have written seven such verses, which make a whole while also standing alone.
Image source– It is a digital painting by Saatchi Art Artist, Jon Holland.
HA's Place 