PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

a fire does not burn 

but waits, contained in the hearth

as shadows lengthen behind portraits

of people no one names aloud

alfred peels the orange

not because he is hungry 

but because morning requires rhythm

and rhythm is an anchor when cities howl

on the news: a rooftop chase

voices glitch through static

they speak of masks

as if they were weapons, or skin

in the hall— 

a coat is hung back on its hook 

with rain that 

never reaches this far up the hill

and in the study 

the grandfather clock ticks 

not as time 

but as a door