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