Melancholy
The mood lifts from the lips, parched with permanent nicotine,
and falls, like snowflake-ashes from a turbulent volcano.
The uninhabited eye, underneath the patch - a vacant stare
into a cloudless night with flamenco-stars. Further from the truth
comes the truth of perspective, perspicacity, the long draw
of his cigarette and slow sigh of ringlets. The Camel scent
of his clothing mixes with lavender and the draught of tears;
melancholy plugs up the dike. An occasional red fingernail,
as if down a chalkboard, his spine, taunts the old timer.
He grunts, and drains the erupting whiskey bottle. Thoughts
take wing…oft’ he hears her laughter, a bird call. Good eye
plucked from the bar, placed with the rest of the stars -
he doesn’t deserve the halo above his habitat, the floor.
Every day, life spins, like a merry-go-round, with no point.
He’ll never tell - the tale is decades gone and oversold.
5/7/2023
Anatomy of Melancholy
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment