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  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry


Source: Adults

Author: Stephen Atkinson

Title: Through This Window

The last time I stared through this window

The delighted Pharaohs found me

And strung a rope ladder around my neck

Charging a small admission price

To inquisitive ghouls.

But I didn’t notice.

I was too busy watching the street corner,

For your face to appear.


The last time I stared through this window,

It was on a select little hillside,

And a friend waited patiently with me in the darkness.

I told him you were a Satanist

Who loved the dark.

And that the light,

Would scare you off.

But you ran anyway.

And so did my friend.


The last time I stared through this window,

It was in a grubby backstreet,

With a name that said green but meant grey.

And I watched the buses

That would have

Brought you to me

Because I had swapped one dingy apartment

For another

Just a couple of slums down the road.

And again I had a friend

Who waited for a millenium,

Playing drums on a saucepan lid,

To keep time to my sad guitar,

Which sang swollen teardrops

To my cheek.


The last time I stared through this window,

I was clutching a lonely telephone,

And listening to a Pan Am jet,

Fly away without me.


Now I have no friend here today,

To hold my hand as I stare,

Through this window.

And even as I write,

My eyes dart,


Eager to catch

The first sight of you.

Always certain to come,

At any moment.

But never does.

Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry

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