Words unread

Guy Mambo

The omens we ignored stare us down


Misplaced letter and broken glass,

Stormy days filled with perfect plans,

Calls from persons still unknown

Asking for your hand, if they could

Yet your feet you soak in dyes of false hope

Ignoring the ones your eyes now cloak


Staring through windows brown from age

Pierced by countenance of an ignored sage

The faceless mind that second-guessed your every folly

The limbless voices that remarked about "how unholy"

But now it's just you, with your colt in your mouth

He has his hands free, one safely in his pocket,

The other, motioning for you to say, "shhh"