Poems and Poetry

The Emperor Knew It Was Closeing | A Poem by Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

Go… As Constantine InTo The Colosseum,
UpOn The Weakening Necks Of Serpentine Gods…


Spiralling Staircases Winding Down InTo The Eras Of Haste,
You Will Find Slick Boroughs And Stick Men,
With Sticky Meat Piled High On Market-Placed Altars,
Sweet Poison Wafting From Shuttered Cracks,
Catatonic Stoneings And Old Fashioned Barterings,
There Is No Sky… Only Wires And Rain OverHead,
One Thing Or The Other To Stab InTo Your Jacket And Slice Off A
Chunk,
The Tribes There Have Their Prophets Etched InTo Their Clocks And
Closets…

Shrines With Back-Doors Leading To Deeper Markets,
Their Salesmen Have No Lips… And So They Sell No Romance,
A Crumbleing Recess With The Occasional Murmur Of Fadeing Light,
And If You Linger A Minute Too Long… The Light Becomes A Sliver…

Embeds ItSelf InTo You…



Then The Door Shuts… Locks Tight,
All BeComes As It Was BeFore… Hidden From What Was Above,
And The Only Thing Giveing Off A Glow…

Is You.

Visit Richard at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca.