REFLECTION (Remove filter)
HOLLOW HALLS
She drags tired heels
across a tainted floor,
poise slightly bowed
and her back is sore.
She holds on her face
a cold marble stare,
a hard life engraved
upon cheeks once so fair.
Her faulting movements,
once graceful; divine,
her aching limbs now
with guile, defy
her final performance
on this dark empty stage,
memories fleeting
of a much better age...
Sunday 28th June 2015 9:36 am
Recent Comments
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
6 hours ago
John Coopey on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
8 hours ago
John F Keane on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
9 hours ago
John F Keane on A Cut Above
9 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
12 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Fallen Leaf
16 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on The Forgotten
17 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!]
18 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on His Majesty’s Stay Out of Hell Cards: “Divine Right” and “Convention”
19 hours ago
Hélène on Elementary
19 hours ago