Romeo turned to stone

by Dave

Wind hews deeply,
etching eons and use
into squinting eyes.
Forehead drawn
into a pattern of
waves and lines.

A mouth that frowns
in want of
in a world bent on

He stand among the
privet and the fuscia,
grey mainly but
cultivating a mosaic of
orange moss
on a robed chest.

And on his hands
the red of juice
from the darkest
black berries
and processed
in a finches gut.

The clock
turned Romeo to stone,
years alone,
not the death
of Juliette
but the days that

The loss, not
immediate but
gradual and
the bloody scars of
Egress and exile
to the solitude
of borders and patios,

On stones and flags
and ragged patches of
fading yellow grass
he stands and waits
death to turn him
from stone to flesh.

-Dave Kavanagh


If you enjoyed the poem. please leave a comment.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: