Thursday, August 20, 2015


Joints grind in irritation
like dry gears 
of a rusted Model T,
smoldering muscles
pouring out energy
on the sand, wasted.
Empty shadows drift
along the bleak walls
of past memories,
echoing silence
crashes through
the dimly lit days, abandoned.
The world dances
while in this stockade
whining rumbles,
the negativity of rejection
paints the sky black
closing the doors, stifled.
Through the tree branches
an orange sun frowns,
smoke disturbs the glory,
even nature
closes her gates
on the joy of the day, rejected.
The bars break
as a new step forces
movement towards tomorrow.


  1. I could read your walk in your poem.

  2. Thank you, Lolo. What a wonderful complement!