Morbid Voyeur

The sneering wind 
flays the sycamore tree of limp,	 weak-willed branches
and their 	lichen tapestries  -		pearl and straw-yellow
while I stand		 watching,
a voyeur 			of death and violence
the wind doesn't want me to watch
howls at 	me 	to 	turn away
                        howls of 	shame
                        howls of 			embarrassment 
                        howls of 						       guilt
It ramps things up 
tearing down 		an elderly fence
that's been 	grey 	and withered 		for a while
Shock tactics.
But it doesn't shock me.
                         I’m still standing. Still watching.	

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. Did you like it? Feel free to leave a comment below or any constructive criticism.

Take It Easy

Paul.

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