poetry critical

online poetry workshop


I sit alone in the dark and count the days
the man on the corner says the end is near.
maybe I’m starting to believe him
(does that make me crazy)
fourteen hundred sixty five
walls black now, the days counted
        (or was it six)
the prophet cries outside again
as the smell of Oil stains the air
(one) (two) (three)
four lines diverge and come red again
the arabian god-king falls
open my eyes
dream, no, delusion
(five) (six)
I feel a breath on my neck
I know this feeling
not death or Death.
no sound as the spark comes … ignites
Prometheus unbound.

2 May 07

(define the words in this poem)
(1 more poem by this author)

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