Get Rid Of The Advertisements

'At Your Beckoned Call'
 
We came in all colours,
All shapes sex and size.
Our hearts and souls a blank music sheet,
For we were nought but to each your prize,
To then walk these hallowed halls, in naked defeat.

My dreams of youth are now all but dead,
As I grow old with judgment throne in view,
Remembering those times, of bruised flesh crushed minds,
Hidden from a mothers glare yet; somehow she knew,
will be exposed to those, who inflicted this pain instead.

In this cold and windswept doorway to life,
A young habitue on a window taps gently,
This ever delicate coquette, while not yet twenty,
Shares her fruits in perfunctory way,
While remembering your gifts bestowed without right.

To steal her gloxinia bells of red purple and white,
This naked belfry her life displayed thereafter,
And vilify the innocence, to satisfy your greed,
To leave her abandoned dreams, entombed in deaths mastaba.
We were at your beckoned call; your sinful hunger to feed.

By adthomas

© 2012 adthomas (All rights reserved)

 

Read more poems by  adthomas
Send this poem to a friend
Read 8 viewers comment(s)























































































The Starlite Cafe Discussion Board | Home

Back to Previous Page