Babylon Cradle

I want to be the echo in an empty building,
One with creaking stairs and crumbling paper,
Lining the walls of a run down city, sleeping.

Wrinkled skin and cold, dark eyes become me,
In warped mirrors of gasoline and shattered glass,
My vision twists between myself above and those below.

I can feel the waves of thundering people beneath me,
Moving in uneven rumbles of footsteps and voices,
They carry bodies heavy from living into my rooms.

I want to be the throbbing heat of a crowded building,
Holding hollow skin against my stained walls,
Carrying them through the cleansing waves of our dirty city.

I can feel the softness of their labored nights,
In the cacophony of their shallow cries I understand,
I want to be the cradle and the coffin.


5 thoughts on “Babylon Cradle

  1. You are really good at this. I’m almost jealous, but I understand that is an emotion unbecoming of an artist. We’re all creative, each in his or her own way. I like this poem so much I am going to reblog it. I know some people following my blog, including a poet I work with at the public library, who will really eat it up. Keep up the good work. Looking forward to more.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much, I really appreciate being reblogged. It’s nice to know that there are more people out there who would enjoy my writing. Thank you for letting me know that you like my particular kind of creativity!


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