Under The Sun
written by: Ted S. Owens
Cruel this deathless road
Promising
Lying
Without destination.
Bleeding feet throng the rut
At endless tables gorging
And starving
And after every pleasure
Weary.
Showers are but a torrid ghost
The soul rustles
Parched
Choking on darkness at midday.
What strange homesickness under our own roof
We pursue completeness
To death
But are buried
Unfinished
All currency
Invested in imposters.
Vietnam veteran living in Virginia.
Latest posts by Ted S Owens (see all)
- Under The Sun - May 15, 2019
- The Other Side Of The Wall - March 28, 2019
