my fingers gather dust
from days without sun
sitting in a chair of tears
spinning, spiraling, a patchwork of
fears
about who you are
and where you'll go
with that leavenous message on your sleeve
with that feigned trumpet of humility
that blasts apart
the truth
with guns like roses
Guns like roses
sweetly stealing
surety
from the pockets
of starving
orphans
from days without sun
sitting in a chair of tears
spinning, spiraling, a patchwork of
fears
about who you are
and where you'll go
with that leavenous message on your sleeve
with that feigned trumpet of humility
that blasts apart
the truth
with guns like roses
Guns like roses
sweetly stealing
surety
from the pockets
of starving
orphans
"gather dust from days without sun"- wonderful words. I did have up look up a new word for me - leavenous, a transforming influence I imagine. I want to think I understand your poem, but I'm probably just projecting...
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading. I've been slacking in the blogosphere of late. I do believe I invented the word leavenous but you seem to have unlocked it's meaning. I am open to everyone interpreting how they wish. This was written about a personnof great influence pretending to be kind while doing horrible things.
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