STIGMATA - Political Musings of Unrequited Love by Ruxandra Duca - HTML preview

Derelict

Putting a hand out, she whispered

'Might you help?'

I closed my eyes and moved on.

Raising her voice, she called

'Might you help?'

I squeezed my eyelids together,

and ran.

The tragedy of life lies with the ancient.

A ragged creature sat beside

the king.

Here, on the throne of impotence,

no man can reach a hand

to the spectre

of damnation.

'Goodbye!'

The old put out their hands

to catch the breadcrumbs,

stuck to a spot of ice,

in the heart of Summer.

Embrocated with concoctions

from the almighty hand of man,

who let them decay to worms,

around the corner,

they go to sleep

with molten wax

filling their veins.