no title

I found my wash-bowl/ decorated with petals / coloured a caesar’s cloak/ and wondered who the listener/ privy to my silent longing/ for a sign of beauty/ had left a compassionate token/ that he shared my fears

of opening his eyes

to find the sombreness

of one’s cell had taken

possession of our mind

burying beauty with our thoughts

and a thing that is enchanting

will not last

james matthews

Advertisement