The Lost Boys

Only red in

your dread rimmed

sleepless eyes

darting over freezing streets

swooping through derilict

buildings frantic

calling all the while

for your nestling

But

The roads that grew you

will not give up their secret

familiars fail you now

as another night falls

casting long shadows over

an empty house where

a small, vacant chair

whose arms bear

little rings of milk

stains sits

 

dawn finds

your broken chick

a bloody valentine

lying in a nest

of painted leaves

 

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9 Comments

Filed under Creative

9 responses to “The Lost Boys

  1. Face, this is stirring, beautiful and very sad. The imagery is simply stunning. It has left a gnawing hollow feeling in my chest…

    • Thank you so much myspoken. It was written in response to a gnawing feeling in my chest: it’s shortly to be the anniversary of an awful tragedy which happened in this country 20 years ago and has never left me…you are so intuitive and full of heart…

  2. Wow. You don’t come along very often Mrs W, but when you do you do so well.
    I love the way you make things obvious without saying them – you show don’t tell brilliantly which is fundamental to poetry for me.
    Hard to believe it’s been 20years since an event which, for me, marks the beginning of a new type of crime in the world. This is a very sad and moving epitaph to that – very well written.
    RoS

    • Thanks panda. I guess you’ve figured what I’m writing about. It was hard because I sometimes feel I don’t have the right to try and express a tragedy of this magnitude: it wasn’t personally mine after all. But as a human and a mother, it affected me so much. Thanks for reading. It’s good to be back.

      • The magnitude came from a sick press, the reality was a very personal, private tragedy. As with individuals, the harm would come from not speaking, from suppressing our feelings – for me anyway.

  3. I remember this, as well. Beautifully done.

  4. I sadly do not know of what you are writing, however your words captured me Ace, excellent. x

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