From Where I Stand

For all the love I’ve chased —
a collection of small tragedies
blinding me, as love will do;
and all the life I’ve lived,
some was a waste
made in haste —
and the sun never waited
for my good senses to rise,
much to my surprise.
And so, lessons learnt —
a shoelace snap back to reality.
There’s been so many times,
when the brightest thing
in this room was the lightbulb
that glows a Van Gogh yellow —
and my temples
would often scream
like dog bark echoes
in an alley;
obsidian shadows
climbing the wall,
with sleep a step
or two behind —
as though it limps like one
with an ingrown toenail.
Standing at the window now,
as it mocks my reflection —
here, a moth on the sill…
dead on arrival, belly up
with snow angel powder wings,
so beautifully still;
this cold coffee, I drink
with a wax museum stare.

From where I stand,
I think.

© Roxi St. Clair

About Roxi St. Clair

IT Professional by trade and Writer & Photographer for fun!

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