Showering Poem by Matt Greenblatt
Showering
Drowned in darkness, designed isolation
Icy knives assault my back
Descending to the iron floor
With a gentle pitter-pat
Where like soldier ants they march
Towards some home-called, destined hole
Bearing up upon their backs
Discarded filfth and aged happiness
Purged of being and
Such existence drained
A man stands taller
To face the same assaults
So that he might drown himself again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 3:42:21 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A Taste of the abstractive in motion, here & that plays to my poetic senses & favour quite well....This work glides mellifluously, like a coin tossed 'cross a glace topped icepond....Strong, poignant storyline, Matt, with appropriate elocution for impact...A SOLID CRAFTING... ~ F. j. R. ~