Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

escapism.

And the train rolled past battered
Ramshackle houses, whose doors hung loosely on
Hinges – if they had a door at all – with
Blank sunburned faces
Staring off in the hopeless distance
And I should’ve known then  – then which
Takes on so many forms in
Fleeting memories – oh, to have seen then
The desolation of seeking home
In this careless, unkept congregation
Of despair, where hope, promise
and self fall inevitably
Victim to
desperation

Advertisements

September 9, 2008 - Posted by | Poetry |

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: