The Hanging, It

The Teacher

He supposed the question was in the day
Just exactly as the subject is night
The gnawing hound of bothersome query
That troubles sleep and his daydreaming mind

The Veteran

The rustling dried leaves of the withered hand
Amber bottle in which its life is poured
Crouched ‘neath the wind flapped plastic lodge
Cold tears streaming amidst nightmare visions

The Cashier

She survives, passing dead items over electric eye
Her plastic ID badge displaying her saddened pale stare
As she mouths ignored identical greetings and goodbyes
Thinking of another lonely night without love, or dreams

The Student

The young boy sitting in the classroom, shying from himself
Has no eager ear, to bestow upon, his hopes and dreams
Dodging along the dangerous trail, leading to his cage
Sleeping, with a guarded diary of his shameful thoughts

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012