Raisins Left in the Sun

A book and paper..blank

Awaits

For words to ink the page

A cappuccino sits

And while I wait

A summer wasp hovers

In silent pain

Making suicide missions

Across my face

It’s that time of year

On the off-white window sash

A comrade dies..stiff

Its wings silent…hum less

And two more friends…now

Succumb to their fate

Desert the sky

Dragging the corpus of their lives

Until they stop…stiff

To resemble

Raisins left in the sun

 

Thatcher Doran

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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!
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