With The Writer Long Gone and the Room Now Abandoned
On rusted keys
bone and flesh fingers
can still be heard clashing
parchment and ink tapping
to the rhythm
long lying silent
The authors heart
beats no more
and for years now
thus the same
still can be heard in echos
smoke laden ghost musings
through muttering formed mouth
hissing in snakelike contortions.
Yes the voices remain
trapped for all time in odd odd ricochet
down lonely dust strewn corridors.
The copper clock used to
count the moments that would always
pass far to quickly
calmly slipping away
departing the day
now it to sleeps dead to the world.
Such a dark room filled with writers block
and mad drunken flurries of genius
the small old oak desk now covered in a blanket
of dust laments the writers passing.
The staircase sighs and creeks
in the mild slow rot of gloomy boredom.
An umbrella hangs on the oak desk
leather covered handle and canvass enclosed
it seems to sob
in complacent decomposition.
Wayne Russell was born and raised in the sunny state of Florida,
yet has lived from state to state and from country to country.
Wayne has been published in various publications over the last
23 years including “The Cannon’s Mouth” “Poets Espresso” “10 K
Poets” and “Harbinger Asylum” he can be found on Face Book at
the following link here.