On a Weidling Spring-like Day in November.

There’s no other

way out from being

pinned against

a verbal wall

than silence.

Much to the dismay

of an irate spouse

with desire to stay

all day on a sunlit

island

arriving on a one-way

ticket

contemplating to fall

victim of being

stabbed by a poisonous

shell

while you

lifelong friend and protector

dream

of sun-soaked paintings

on white-washed walls

preferred artist’s life

island-style.

A Weidling spring day

in mid-November.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’16

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