These Days

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A short discourse on our modern times

These days of segmented spaces
Delimited in measured paces
The very air that heaves and thieves
In specks of translucent disease
Masked strangers and bare face fools
The rattle of the deserted schools
Shape the texture of these latter days
The staggered steps of work and play
The incremental hours that define our ways
These days
Hope rises with perilous intent
Always there but somehow distant
While across the way small children play
and men in orange coats stop to wave
An iron pole winks a cautionary tale
Not to walk but to run away
To another time bereft of dismay
Some place of forgotten cheer
Anywhere else but here
Any time but these days.
These latter days.
"Good morning" the postman cries
A wilful imaginary wile
These is no postman, no bringer of news
The streets are bare, the air disused
The unnatural stories of mass demise
That avert our tear stained eyes
Fresh painted walls and gates yawn wide
While normal life is given final rites
In the solitude of these latter days.
These days
In a verdant deserted park
Two lovers meet to kiss and blush
To share a stolen lover's laugh
Until a wanton stranger coughs
And all of them scurry off.
These day of trial
These days.

 

 


Submitted: January 31, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Paul R. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:

Comments

Myles_Harris

I loved the imagery and flow of this. Each word was used with perfect intent. Great writing!

Sun, January 31st, 2021 5:15pm

Author
Reply

Thx Myles. Appreciate it.

Mon, February 8th, 2021 2:09pm

hullabaloo22

You've captured this strange time perfectly here, Paul. Excellent writing!

Sun, January 31st, 2021 6:17pm

Author
Reply

Strange times we live in but then again, all times seem strange when they are happening ;) Thx for your kind words Hull

Mon, February 8th, 2021 2:08pm

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