Very Bad Archive
Nothing
Robert Hawkins
The apartment is empty,
Except sounds his phnograph made,
Clicking trying to ride itself over the label.
Having long reached the end
of the song.
The love song he knew so well.
For it was still playing in his heart.
Sitting at the table peering
through the lit candle.
The candle growing so much closer,
To its wine bottle holder.
Served to make him aware of times passage.
Once more he rose to retrace
over,
A now worn path to his window
He was inbued with fuility.
This was an act he had done many times.
Looking down with a fleeting
glimpse.
As if that would conserve
his anguish.
Turning from the window
his attention,
Centered on the meticulously
prepared table.
His mind went numb.
Mumbling to himself where are you my love?
An almost overwhelming sadness,
Pervaded his entire body an
soul.
Telling himself she is a
masterpiece.
I am but a stone.
rlh
RLH, poems comprise more from illusions lost than
dreams real.
Robert Hawkins has published 2 more terrible poems since joining on 30/11/99. Read more of Robert's terrible poetry at the anthology. Here are three of Robert's latest works: