Rebel’s Epitaph
At sixteen, he set about the task
In which he sat himself and asked,
When time is up, when stood alone,
How best scratch his years on stone?
For fear of nearing tragedy he worked
To find the words that freely said the best of worst
And so penned the lines
That in his mind,
Justified his selfish crimes:
“I sought to be a man of leisure,
But then leisure met the better of me.’
Ghosts II
As it falls, clad in shadow,
Their hurried heels abhor
The spectre,
A spring petrichor.
Horizon
Clouds,
Quietly framed, aflame.
The Earth,
Speckled damp, with rain.
Another Tired Epiphany
For years he strived,
Worked hard, and blind,
To the reach the place
That promised a mind.
And once arrived
He fell, struck, to find,
That there are no answers,
Only lies.
Confession
Her eyes, redolent of a river’s tremor,
Startled me from sleep.
Petroleum
I wonder how much
A barrel of blood,
Costs in dollars...
About The Author:
Oliver Delgaram-Nejad currently studies English & Creative Writing at Falmouth University, Cornwall.
Other Collections:
Coffee and Cigarettes
(2007) – erbacce press
Sentiments
(2011) – erbacce press
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