hollow

the smell of old men,
of hyacinths,
of long time ago.

a vintage thought,
an antique shore,
those skeletons stuck,
congested and buried in
our own history.

there are pains that can
be utterly remembered.
the screams of the past
are ringing louder every
time we close our eyes.

a ghost can be stronger
than a weak mouth.

 

2019

About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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