Forlorn

Are you sorry now?

Cowlicked

Sallow youth

Fingering the dried sheets

Of childhood

Painted manouschka 

Could you know

The first hallilullah?

Fused life

As you sat with well worn magazine 

Mopping up what’s left

Wheeling out of butcher’s theatre

Give the cigarette girl

A penny….. so she

Doesn’t bend in two for the muscled drummer

Who plays the same record throughout a long night

Testing her tightly strung strings

With bitten thumbs 

Let her know

The birth of understanding 

Comes not in filling empty bottles

With crawling dark

But something of the learned

Depth of solitude

Dying out imprints 

Like stretched skins behind glass

Look forlorn

27 thoughts on “Forlorn

  1. “The birth of understanding
    Comes not in filling empty bottles
    With crawling dark
    But something of the learned
    Depth of solitude”

    Wiser words have never been spoken!!! You always come back better than before albeit not always happier. Love N πŸ˜‰ ❀

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