Moving Among Mixed Metaphors

Moving Among Mixed Metaphors

 

He sauntered in like

An unmade bed,

All bent and

Bedraggled about the shoulders and

Neck leaned over.

His days

All yellowed and dog-eared

Like a long loved –

Or unloved –

Book,

Spent,

And rent

In its spine

From the strain

Of bearing the pain.

His musing,

Among the mixed metaphors,

A metaphor itself,

Of days dotted

With random unconnected

Debris.

The remaining pages,

expectant

with the longing

to be

free.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 25 October 2017.

 

---

#WATWB October coming soon. Stay tuned.

Advertisement

Fatigue

Fatigue

Fatigue
had set in.
The man
drooped heavily
in the chair.
Lank limbs
fell into furrows
of cushioning.
A
deep
deep
tiredness
sank into his spirit
and
the weight
of his body
echoed
the weight upon
his heart and mind.
Fog filled his brain.
It was
as if all thought
had gone into slow motion.
A listless anxiety settled in.
He was concerned
that he felt so poorly.
Yet
he lacked
the strength of any kind
to correct it.
Hung
he did
on the day
and hoping
against all hopes
that a blessed sleep
would rest
upon him this night.

Simon C.J. Falk 18 March 2014