The night is a bustling, hip café
We haven’t the pull to be admitted
The luminous windows tempt and betray
Their warm allure is counterfeited
Study the pools of pyrite and onyx
Fool’s gold mixed with ink tattoos bleak hours
Like desperate addicts, we seek our fix
Moonlight turns faces to dying flowers
Our envious eyes touch the fools inside
We mutter ancient curses in the dark
Over a sweet feast they glibly preside
While we, slow beasts, wave farewell to the ark
Tantalized are we by phantom pleasures
Exclusion calls for radical measures
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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"Hear Me Out"
"Hear me out, what if we ran away together?" "Where do you want to go?" "Anywhere but here. We could move to a new city or to Canada, or we could disappear from society to live in the middle of the woods. Maybe a combination of two of those things would be good. What do you say?"
By Kay Husnick6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
This is simply gorgeous. Well done.
“Fool’s gold mixed with ink tattoos bleak hours” was such a transfixing line! Great sonnet, D.J.!
What are those radical measures, I wonder?
"Moonlight turns faces to dying flowers..." Can't help but wonder just how many times this has transpired before my very eyes........
"Moonlight turns faces to dying flowers", this line stood out to me the most! Loved your poem!