Holed in the mediocrity
A faint light shone from above
Tickling the upper edges
Of this lost bottom
A modern man shouldered the thick air
Pungent with solitude
Dampness clung to his frame
Chilling limb to limb
Earth spilled down upon his brow
Marking the moments
With tacit regress
Left to wipe at such times
He longed for the humanity above
Pictured their plight
Taking snapshots with his mind’s eye
Releasing them as quick as they came
He knew of no such luck
To capture the images was futile
The caricature was he
In this home of his crafting.
No comments:
Post a Comment