FAINT WHISPERS
In the cobwebbed coffin of my closet
Are things I can’t throw away
Cards from deceased relatives
Shirts edged with ragged hems
Stereos whose songs found new owners
Magazines that went out of print
Board games with missing pieces
Letters from long-lost friends
And I always intend to clean it
But something inside me says No
As if it’s the story of someone
I don’t have the heart to forget
COLORBLIND
In the morning he awoke
To a world as black
As a priest giving last rites
But by evening it became
As white as a nurse
Drawing poison from his heart
And in between he wandered
Down streets paved with dust
Under a slate grey sky
Burdened by the weight
Of ashen memories
And leaden dreams
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