All the Suffocating Sick Grey Reptiles of the Past

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By Esmerelda-O

Thu, 16 Apr 2015
  • 1812 reads
6 comments
 

I try to remember how I loved you 

and how we all suffered here

and how some of us escaped and some of us did not.

There are ghosts on every corner

but there are always more corners.

The fickle wraiths we pass, they whisper ancient truths.

History curls like a sick grey serpent around my feet;

I must step over it and leave it to die.

Certificate U
Poem
Journal
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

another blinder Esmerelda!

 

Submitted by london_calling79 on

Stunning. Just what I've come to expect from you. Your poetry is deceivingly simple with hidden depths.

 

Submitted by scratch on

This is our facebook and twitter pick of the day!

Get a fantastic reading recomendation every day.

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

This can be applied to all sorts of things; tragedy, war, love, addiction, illness, driving, cooking, almost everything we do requires right-minded acceptance. History only repeats itself because it doesn't want to change. The snake at the end is the sting in the tail that snaps this poem out of the ordinary and into another sphere.  Not of an unsound mind at all.

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

It's true, ghosts on every corner.

Submitted by Steve on

Already in the line, "but there are always more corners," is the last lines implied.