My Black Walls. A poem.

My walls.                Are.

Black

                                             As oil and just as wet.

Wet. From. All. The.

Spurious

Aimless.                      Thoughts

                                                                                                    I throw at them.

All the pointless.                         Shit.                              That.

Leaves.                         A snail.                Trail

                                                                                                            In its wake.

That.        Wends.                            Its

Way.                             To.               The floor.

                              I keep throwing

my aimless.                   Pointless.               Thoughts

                                                        And hope that.                       One.                 Day.

They will Coalesce.                                                                             Into

Something truly

                                                                    Worthwhile.

My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

5 thoughts on “My Black Walls. A poem.

Add yours

  1. There is beauty in piles of dirt actually when view long away from our usual myopic views of them being dirt…. I saw an art work made from dirt or disposed items on documentary…. It was so lovely… So my deduction, pile of dirt makes up things depending on your views on creativity….

    Your poems are usually awesome with that spark!

    Liked by 1 person

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