The dying light left me
To your broken dreams,
Engulfing me, it seems,
In what was never free,
Paucity longingly lacks
The cold human touch,
Only passing the buck,
Kicking insubstantial blame,
There was never refrain
Between the ragged rock
And that Oh. So. Hard. Place.
What little food for thought
When starvation becomes
Our only feeding ground,
Anorexic conversations,
Malnourished love,
Deprivation wants plenty
When we embrace scarcity,
I once more see you in all
Those ravenous scenes,
Oh unfed enslavement.
Poem © Phen Weston 2014
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This poem is great and the image is too. Both are very neat!
Thank you. I love the image too. Wish I could draw like that (or at all :p)
simply excellent… RAR = rien à rajouter…