Matinee

The rushing rivulets of pain
Washed away with sunday rain
The gushing galore of emotion
Sweeped away the man in motion
I watched and held my breath
The show ended with a death.

Poetry

I tried to hold on to

My time, my youth, my vigor,

my conscience and my emptiness;

And one fine morning it all

slipped away;

Slipped away

to the vastness of my emptiness,

to the darker side of my conscience,

to the unknown side of my vigor,

and to the brutality of time;

I woke up and wrote a poetry;