logotype
by Mar 21, 2020

My father was a man of picture... Poetry

My father was a man of picture... Poetry

my father was a man of picture
his brooding stare
sharpened by the cold

he wore the stones
deepened in the fiction
of his shortly cutted soul

his cup was full of liquid tar
that spilled as far
as eyes could see

he had his vision of someone
who just like him
was never there.

Share:
  • twitter
  • facebook
4 сomments
Del

Del Mar 21, 2020

Wow Franka -

Franka

Franka Mar 21, 2020

@Del, thank you so very much!

Jeffrey

Jeffrey Apr 3, 2020

Nice

Franka

Franka Apr 3, 2020

@Jeffrey, thank you.

You may also like