sentimental (Remove filter)
The time is crawling
The time is crawling
On this slippery Friday afternoon.
My body is trapped
In an hourglass room.
My poor empty body
Can no longer feel the pain.
There is a dry flower
In the corner.
I have been staring at it
For the past hour.
Does it crave love
That I can no longer give?
Saturday 6th February 2021 10:16 pm
Recent Comments
John Coopey on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
2 hours ago
John F Keane on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
3 hours ago
John F Keane on A Cut Above
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
5 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Fallen Leaf
9 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on The Forgotten
11 hours ago
Rolph David on Sonnet: Imigh Hotovely, Imigh Smál Damnaithe! Imigh is Póg mo Thóin! [Out Hotovely, Out Damned Spot! Out and Kiss my Arse!]
11 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on His Majesty’s Stay Out of Hell Cards: “Divine Right” and “Convention”
12 hours ago
Hélène on Elementary
12 hours ago
Rolph David on Spinocracy – The Art of the Fall*
13 hours ago