One Sublime Poem by GJ Hart

 

The Window

 

A break from climbing

oceans And brick dust -

I sit at my window looking -

my garden small but large

for London, the grey

tigered fence and behind,

window upon window

like mine -

 

oh what a time

sounds grand - back then

it ebbed and half

seen, nudged at my hull

or drew my neck with one

thin finger - now perfection's

a crime, I lock each day

to lose the key -

 

and here In London's

furrows, beneath the plane's

white hair - I'll keep my

mouth shut, darken

old words, wishing i'd never

given way to oncoming life -

 

and one day when I must

spread wings in any bed

of flowers and the pain

of best efforts ebbs,

I will drink my atoms

like any poison and forget 

there once was time.

 

GJ Hart currently lives and works in London and has had work published in Isacoustic, Nine Muses Poetry, The Molotov Cocktail, The Jersey Devil Press, The Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart