Old November

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Contently Deranged Travelers

Submitted: April 24, 2020

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Submitted: April 24, 2020

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Scribbled down and loaded up

Tick wicked thoughts of cursed clocks;

Withholding withered knells they struck

‘Gainst rhythms sunk to inky blots.

 

No metaphorical metronomes

Bring sense unto the senseless norms,

But none in thrones remain or roam

Lest burst aflame black monochromes.

 

To high, cascading coffin cabinets,

Clung lustful to their ceiling facets,

A rattle is threat enough to panic

And drop on heads their portent havoc.

 

Keep close reprieves of smoldered embers

And psychopomps of Old November

Felled by fires of frozen amber;

Though rest assured none will remember.


© Copyright 2020 M. A. Yacone. All rights reserved.

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