Death of The Past
Death of The Past
by Carl Scharwath
Enlightened moon an abortion of nighttime creation
Cries last energy in summer’s final luminance
Grave yard headstones manifest elongated shadows
Cement souls embedded into the humid grass
The distant, lonely old house exhales the past
Through stucco cracks, history impregnates the air
Curb adorned with a broken old television-tubes missing
The lifeblood to the future in its rusted satellite dish
No one ever dies here anymore, where have they gone?
Displaced suburbia fills forever abandoned dreams
A neighborhood raped in the shuttered factories
Polluted smoke replaced with the whiteness of lonely clouds
couldn’t of said it more happily myself. the metaphors are so vivid here, i got paintings in my head. and i spelled head ‘haid’ and spelled ‘spelt’. ha. i think you could write a novel with just all this packed into a short poem, i imagine you could do something fantastic. great work, thank you for sharing. <3
Thanks so much for your nice comment