IN ALL THE RIGHT PLACES
In amongst the familiar faces
Satin and laces
Roses as fresh as daisies
Petals at your feet
Like the barefoot countess
Overseeing her groundless
Lifeless, listless
Pitifulness
Life
The willowy, wispy
Clouds floating way up high
The stream quietly meandering
Here and there
Without a care
Oblivious to the countess
Way up there on the ramparts
Looking downwards
Looking sad
Sadness in her eyes
Could she be wishing and hoping
That she’d rather be elsewhere
Than the stony cold walls
Be with the out of ordinary
The clustering, the gatherings
Of the same old, retold
Over and over again
Heartless, soulless
Their hapless
Ill fadedness
Ill-fated nesses
Where a love is despicable
Loveless, compassionless
Coldness that shivers down the spine
He’s spineless, heartless
That seeps right through the bare bones
A feelingness of a clown
Fed up with the frowns
Round and round
Echoing sounds
Pounding, pounding
Life that is not real
© Teresa Joseph Franklin
3rd May 2014
All Rights Reserved
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