A daily pompt.
The Old House, dusty hallway,
Photographs, framed, hidden stains.
A Gallery – regretful
Faces leer, beneath brows furrowed.
Yet, the daily path leads on
Down this Hallway, all alone.
They watch me. Their Eyes score deep
Bleeding tracks – Mind-Paralyzed.
Move on, each Eye Memorized.
© CGT, 2017.
Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.