1 minute read
From the Watchtower
Jasmine Owens
The red seeds are virulent now
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And to think there was ever time before this April wipes it from May’s brow
It’s a careless worry and it often ends in a diss
Like a broken watch in a tinkering clock store
The Keeper of Time turns his head with ignorant bliss
There’s a new ballet in the Town of More
Did you hear?
But you turned your head, darkened, like an old sore
The dancers wilted as though they were sick with fear
One stabbed the other with a gleaming sharp crown
Stunningly, there was not a drop of blood left out to smear
I walked past another man trying to drown
On my way here and it was humbling Because I had never considered it before and instead, I frown
I met a woman on the street corner, and she was bumbling Her clothes were writhe with the fruits of her madness
I asked her about it silently, silently mumbling
When I made it to the watchtower it was half past three
And when I got there, I began to weep
