For Shadow, For Dust!
the old woman,
face bruised and wrinkled,
clothes dirty and worn...
lies alone in the bed,
except for the cat...
shadows whisper, she moans,
as if closing a book.
even the hungry walls are silent...
the pages of the book
tattered and yellowed.
her teeth broken or gone,
her fist clenched tight,
the comfort of no one,
the prayer to no god.
the clock on the wall ticks amen...
her spirit taken, her fist opened,
a bag of trash falls in the corner,
the old cat runs for shadow,
for dust...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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