Half awake
Drowning in a cup of black coffee.
The hour glass lays broken,
Time escapes and becomes forever.
The poet clothes his brittle soul in
autumn leaves
Predicting winter for supper.
I have lost faith in tomorrow.
We live our feeble lives in the constant now And right now, you are not here.
Alone.
My sharpened pencil speaks bluntly
He violently cuts into a virgin page
Chaining my loneliness to a company of
poems
I tear away pieces of my wailing self
Preparing for life without you
and then…
Half awake
staring at the coffee stains and your
name
etched into my wooden table
My heart smiles
as your distinctive voice tickles my
waiting ear
From the other side of the door an
announcement:
My cat has returned from his walk about.
© Richard Quaz Roodt
Fight against the current
