Schools Poetry

May the best you have ever seen,
A doe, perhaps
Transform with wings and white bodice.
A cream gown, a feathered blouse,

A monstrosity framed in the history of my window pane
Weaved between its triple glaze
As rain of murder pours down the glass,
Terrorism is the cause of this murdered mass.

I walk where they walked.
The innocent curiosity haunting the air.
I sit in the shadowed corners with them,
their minds blackened by the memory.

Calm.
Sunlight raining down on the cathedral -
Fire, spitting on the distance,
Bidding tourists flee.

The ring of fire over a black sky
A fractured star, a violet mist
Everlasting dusk and the blue
Navy ward and the peal dead
The wood post in the hard soil

You are the black cat sat on my lawn,
Contorted as of the nature of your feline shape.
I am your prey.

The picture of grace and innocence.
They peel off my skin, the last remnants of my life.
A life of luxury. Taken as fast as the swing of an axe.
Some call this justice.

Rusted can next to a Guitar.
Empty. Nothing. Alone in
the park. Sat in your
spot endlessly strumming strings. Gliding your hand

The hanging basket,
Worn and well used swung slowly,
Like cheerful monkeys.