Day: February 5, 2016

Duty

Flowers wilt vainly in a blue vase,

Saving but a languished beauty.

Petals fall slowly to the base,

You whisper, Death is a duty.

A figure masked by cloth and camphor fumes,
In all the gloom devours unforeseen louse,
All clocks and time dissolve to winds of plumes.

Poor child alone with mind ever more in tombs,
An umbrella for leg and no school house,
A figure masked by cloth and camphor fumes.

The long crease between your full brows,

Your thin cracked lips, plumped with words and tales

Please, tell a story, if time allows,

Your face, to Troy, I would always sail.

At the white coffeehouse,

That perfume! Oh, what days!

For her memories rouse,

Knowing youth, and it’s ways.