poems

Whisps of people

Whisps of people

01/07/2017

 

The people dissappear like whisps of smoke.

Twirling lighter into nothingness as they rise.

High rise past the sky’s dye’s where the sun lies.

Goodbyes.

They were talking at the stage door.

Two stood out but not to each other.

Opposing gems, some weird metaphor.

She was talking about not having a brother.

No male figure for her to share todays life with,

Apocolyptic abundance, how being on the rob doesn’t make good sense.

Teenagers pushing barriers, tasting waters with trepidence.

She fears how far she could go with no example.

She never goes anywhere.

The people dissappear like whisps of smoke twirling lighter into nothingness as they rise.

High rise past the sky’s dye’s where the sun lies.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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