Thursday, April 10, 2014

XVI, THE TOWER

Image: Wikipedia


XVI, THE TOWER
by Vela Damon


As if the     unspoken
    words  aren’t piling
up like a           Jenga
tournament, The
       Tower near to
grazing           the sky.
     Speak just one
and blocks
      will rain     down
             on our heads.
We walk on tiptoe, no
sudden    movements.
       The Tower is
particularly    wobbly
      in the evening.
We are the
         falling    people,
   mouths open   and
screaming,       heads
striking       the pointy
      rocks. But it is not
 my Tower,      nor my
         foolishness that
will cause it to tumble.
    You shuffle     
       the deck.
The  clouds      gather.
         The Tower       
trembles,          eager
        
        to spill its words.



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