Beyond My Window
Beyond my window
The sky blooms in a voluminous garden
The sun attends,
And there my childhood goes wandering
In the thick forest of nebulous—
There is no time on me
And there are no scars—
Gravity is a funny thing that still spins
Like a top in the palm of my hand…..
My heart is not lost in a panting jungle
Of her red fingernails and long, curling locks,
Like chains made of unbreakable feathers,
For now she stalks me without even thinking about it,
A filmy poltergeist doing her life
Five states away near where the East Ocean breathes.
She eats its salts every day and doesn’t even think about it,
The way the world tastes inside of her….
Inside me, she is the romantic acid
Spurting through my soul, taking turns with time
And gravity to bed decay in me….
My house quakes with her and I am coming down,
Though beyond my window
Where the sun gallops, my childhood still plays.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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