Allah, Beauty, Day, Death, English Poetry, Ghosts, Happiness, Heart, Heat, Life, Love, Lovers, Marriage, Night, Poetry, Recomendations, Relationship, Sufi's, Uncategorized, Wife, Wisdom, Woman, Women, Youth
Numbers melt off the clock in this dead heat,
clouds dock between telephone wires
in a stagnant sky to watch the concrete
steam and stick to car tyres.
Even the bluebottles admit defeat,
one last thud against burning glass.
The day dies as red as suburban brick,
midges swirl and swarm in the grass
as stars flicker and clocks begin to tick
A day passed
breaths wait static
to be inhaled again,
I hope you guys enjoy this song as much as I do