warehouse turns to a
cathedral of images
as the sun bursts thru
the window, poising
in a half dream.
A samurai-like warrior,
made of sunbeams,
is out of time with the world,
like the broken hands
of a clock.
The graffiti up on the
wall, tells it like it is, and
seems to deny the winter
and war-torn floor, one
last effort to pull itself
together again.
For PROMPT #107 at Read Write Poem, we were asked to create a poem based on the following image.
