My brother, the dreamer of secret dreams,
when this motel was fresh and new,
walked with me down to the Coke machine,
back to our room with a poolside view
Eyes closed, my neon lids show me
my younger eyes alight beside
a blue, cornflower blue sweet pool
my lonely, lonely brother smiling, laughing —
My family, well-meaning and clothed in whispers,
playing and growing in luxuries lost,
luxuries lost, like my family itself,
in the overgrown ruins of what once was
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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