There is a splintered street
Where dreams die at dawn
The gurgle of laughter stilled
In the unlikeliest of throats
There is a nascent irascibility that sends
Youth hurtling off the edge of this precipice
Called life. Death is not painful
For the dead. Only for the unfortunate
Living who sift through memories
Like voyeurs. Searching for something
Elusive – trying to wring warmth
From a blanket left in the sun
This street brings a schizophrenic wish
For voices that are not there
It breeds fluttering ghosts that
Flap wings in rib cages
From The Enchanting and other poems. Click HERE for link to Free download. To read Agatha Aduro’s blog, click HERE.
Su'eddie in Life n' Literature 