by Philip F De Pinto

Who can recall
How long that light has lain mute on the wall

Along with the writing it cannot hope to scratch the surface of
As it is written in a deceased language

That language being love

But there it is perched on the wall
Which given your tender age you would cage
Like Macau and have it emulate a language other than love


Posted on 05/07/2013
Copyright © 2022 Philip F De Pinto

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 05/07/13 at 01:04 PM

This is basically how I feel when I sit through commercials, though restated with far more eloquence. I think you're a poet, De Pinto. Just a hunch.

Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 05/08/13 at 03:47 PM

love peace language is yet alive, lives inside your writing, yon philip, and this is one thing that has not changed and i am glad of this submitted comment to let you know i notice this

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