by Richard Trotter
No one ever said
buried in paper and ethics,
pen bleeding ink in a pocket
gunshot wounds frozen
for his love.
No one understood
the cost of the familiar
squeezed through grey funnels
torn for wanting red
the effort ignored
No one else saw
the fog in the painting
into which he could fade
others saw the flat desk;
the horizon is not smooth.
Author's Note: yet another old poem.. I'm finding it hard to process new ideas..
Posted on 01/16/2004
Copyright © 2020 Richard Trotter
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Maureen Glaude on 01/16/04 at 03:48 PM|
wow. I especially the last stanza, but all of it is a fine list poem. So dramatic. Layers beneath the risk of love.
|Posted by Christina Bruno on 01/16/04 at 07:29 PM|
great work, i so love
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/19/04 at 01:24 AM|
Thought provoking read sir. I especially like the impact of that third and closing stanza.
|Posted by Kalikala Smith on 01/20/04 at 12:47 AM|
love the last stanza... i could spend forever in that thought
|Posted by Stephanie Kent on 01/21/04 at 03:53 AM|
I sat and mulled over this for a long time the first time I read it...this time is no different:) "the horizon is not smooth." Absolutely striking.