White Gossamer

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White gossamer

bellows in the warm breeze

that brings in sweet air,

that ushers in the outside world.

Sit on the floor

a cushion for comfort.

Bare skin soaking

the cooling April draft

and listen…

Not a sound nearby

except for an odd trapped fly

But hear noise from afar

A distance roar of a car…

Next-doors dog barking…

The lovers over the road larking…

Mother berating child errant…

Coarse words of workless apparent…

A scooter bursts into life…

The unemployable have their strife…

Hear song-birds chatter…

And all my travails scatter…

In my mind,

in my head,

over my bed

and far away from me for the day

leaving the road of my journey

free of debris, for a clear way

for dreams of sweet serenity.

 

Malek Montag

11th April, 2017

 

Picture Credit: http://www.mocp.org/media//Kertesz_A/

About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on Niume.com.
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