Friday, February 25, 2011


The haunted mausoleum
Where prayers are numb
That's exactly what it reminds me of...
The damp dark-lit place
We traipse to every Wednesday night
Hobos and seekers alike
Grimace through the halls

This time
Tie dye clown colors
Splattered and wearing nary  a sheepish grin
Rather a desolate heart-sick cry

I drop her there
To share the secrets
Of a thousand walls
Where a thousand lives went before

If you listen carefully
You hear the voices
And see the doe eyes
Of wanton bodies
Shrieking before
Yearning for someone to give them a glance
Just a chance
As they continue to grapple with their world
Lips locked in secret silent solitude. 


  1. dark and deep,one;s fragile existence is shown like a bright beacon,well written there lorely

  2. one's fragile existence...I like that Richard!