TWO FRAGMENTS IN MINOR KEYS 1 Footsteps winding down the damp stairs-- smells like decayed memories-- They do not raise their heads, the great beasts, as the light rakes their flanks. Till the candle goes, you sit there-- virtuous, proud, alone. 2 The sky drinks up the earth. The sun's glass stare marbles the sea-- Waves go up in smoke. Like wrinkled fruit, the bells drop from towers, black shadows drop from the trees. No one will ever leave this room alive. Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie

                               TWO FRAGMENTS IN MINOR KEYS

                                                           1

Footsteps winding

down the damp stairs--

smells

like decayed memories--

They do not raise their heads,

the great beasts, as the light

rakes their flanks.

Till the candle goes, you sit there--

virtuous, proud, alone.

                  2

The sky drinks up the earth.

The sun's glass stare

marbles the sea--

                           Waves

go up in smoke.

Like wrinkled fruit, the bells

drop from towers,

black shadows drop

from the trees.

No one

will ever leave this room

alive.

Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie