Pigeons

a bench is sat on
        complete with park and pigeons
    and I with feed in hand
        for them, or me, as whim demands
there may yet be a breeze
                                                (or clouds, or children)
    and facelessly I sit,
        eyes closed! into the future
        facing the ghost I once gave up
        not glancing at the time
            for fear of knowing
and the hour of long shadows
                                                (they grow and grow
                                                until they vanish)
    and I with feed in hand
                                                                        remain

Pigeons

SinisterDexter

Belmont, United States

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

Critique and criticism welcomed.

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