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December 05, 2022

The Crumpled Rose

By John Tustin

The Crumpled Rose

Alone I am
In this boxy room

I cannot stand
In this kind-of tomb

The room is stinking
(Is that within?)

All done with drinking
(I blame my twin)

The curtains close
The lights go dim --

The final rose
She bends her stem

The last draught drunk
The last draft burned

The last sun sunk
The last page turned

The room stops spinning
Sleep descend

Distant beginning
Approaching end

The curtains close
As do each eye

The crumpled rose
The end of try






Article © John Tustin. All rights reserved.
Published on 2020-11-30
Image(s) are public domain.
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