Thank you Phillip Morris
for the gifts.
Mom, Pop and The Horse
smoked
one after another.
As a child,
fruit flies buzzed in my chest.
They were not common,
ordinary bugs
but elephants
with dragon wings.
On cold nights
their weight grew.
I gasped
turning blue,
a poor copy
of a Van Gough
blurry around the edges,
the colors blending together,
the faces indistinct,
hidden and lost in a miasma of color.
Silent storm clouds drifted across the ceiling
staining curtains yellow
and my heart black.
I sailed the years
with the Light Brigade
through carbon copy
canyons of death
along with a sand clock
running toward empty.
______________________________
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From william L sawyers
The Child Author
An excellent write ... I, too, am wandering around this shadow of death. Can't kick the durn things: have cut down, there's hope for me yet. =] Saving this one, think it's your best, yet.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Have a Happy Thanksgiving!
Gene's right, a government health warning, and my poison is Winston, nothing to do with Churchill although that's a brand I tried once, and only once. Seriously though, nice one, this!
John
of cigarettes. My downfall was Lucky Strikes: Be happy, go lucky.
-gene.