The Poetry Society - Sunday Morning Death Parade

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Jan 7, 2010, 9:01pm

The Poetry Society :: Members Poems :: Romantic Poetry :: Sunday Morning Death Parade

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Topic: Sunday Morning Death Parade (Read 59 times)

Circe
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We came, We saw, We didn't quite conquer.

Joined: Apr 2005
Gender: Female

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Sunday Morning Death Parade
« Thread Started on Apr 24, 2005, 11:15pm »

It’s a Sunday Morning death parade
With its monatomic rumblings echoing of the spare walls
Drumming against my brain like the all the previews we watched
High in the citadel, alone and wild in our intimacy
Taking every chance we had to run rapid through life

And I keep thinking you’ll come back
And sweep me up in your arms

I see London, I see France…

Torn petals crinkle under my feet
There once wine complexion stolen
In the moments between “Hello” and “Goodbye”<br>I shuffle them away as I pass into the eternity that once was
Careful recorded memories, now everything is such a blur

And I keep thinking you’ll come back
And sweep me up in your arms

I see London, I see France…

And I’ve force fed myself so many times
I lost all feeling especially in my thumbs
As I pick up your foreign cigarettes and half empty scotch bottles
That aren’t there, and that smell of sandalwood and fresh dewed grass
Is stinging my lips once again

And I keep thinking you’ll come back
And sweep me up in your arms

I see everything, we left to chance…

It’s a Sunday Morning death parade drumming in my ear
Rumbling with the palpitations of my heart
Deafening and sobering all at the same time
Grabbing my lifeline, the bottle that always freezes my fingers
I seep into the land of drunkenness
Slowing slipping away into amber liquidity

I see London, I see France…

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