An Evening Holding its Breath

Journeying home

At the tail end of a day


With doubt and lies

Even the sun had gone


Left a shadow in its


The train will stop at every


Slowly working its way

Pass the corrugated boxes

Where humanity ekes out

A living

Pass modernity’s installation

Living art…..

In fields where cattle


Alongside rusticated cars

In shocking brown

Where rabbits nibble

At the elbow of an evening

As I write, a soft mist


The snake slipping through

The landscape

Pass the half built homes

Under steel grey clouds

An evening holding its breath…..

Thatcher Doran

About pmisteil

Hi, my name is Paul though I write under other names like, Thatcher and Paolo, I love literature, art and architecture their passion and drama....the contradictions. The notion of Truth-who is the person behind the mask? Or does it matter! I like long walks and longer conversations over cappuccinos in a cafe with atmosphere and the rest is a journey!
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

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

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

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s