The Blank Wall

I turn my face to the blank wall

Molten amber fills the morning

Red and yellow paint on wooden chairs

Blisters in the heat into soft bubbles

Round my feet pretending to twirl.

In the small thick hours

The gift of wrapped flowers

Drip with salty tears

And push violet petals away.

A crimson half moon

Burns with red camellia blossoms

Between pink azaleas

A lonely owl screeches

As moonlight kisses my arms.

My bad memory

Resurrected in empty regret

Is once again forgotten in time.

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One Response to The Blank Wall

  1. brian miller says:

    love the imagery around the flowers and owl…it creates a nice atmosphere….
    and i think our memories round out the rough edges over time….

Thank you for reading my poems. Please don't feel you have to comment. I enjoyed writing them, I hope you enjoyed reading them, Be blessed.

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