Boy’s Club

We are but a bramble of
thorns
with not a single rose among
us.
Black, barren, and brittle,
dry, creeping, and rambling,
are all that we are without a hint
of color
to invite the butterflies.

Ambrosia
will not be found
here,
nor bees to take them to
fields and meadows of gold,
nor gods to find them,
to fill their halls
with joy.

We
are poison without the
flowers,
blight without the
hues,
and suffocating cigar smoke without the
flavors,
if not for the soft
petals
that rain from the sky
and fill our crumbling books with
sweetness.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s