Gomorrah – Part VII – A Poem

This is the final installment to the poem Gomorrah. Other entries can be found


Gomorrah VII

At home Gomorrah puts his newspaper in a drawer. Hangs his straw
hat up on a peg nailed into his desk. The purple sky paints the room.
Owls are out. Hunting in the dry air. The trees shake. Gomorrah
finishes his dinner and prepares for bed. Seasons his cast iron skillet.

He will not sleep. He knows this. It has been years since he has.
He smiles. “I picked you.” Michelangelo and Jonah escaped. They
carry the knowledge of The People. The Door The Old Gods
departed from stays hidden. Forever buried in the catacomb maze.

The snow is continuing to fall in the higher elevations. In the mountains
there is joy. Thick ice now blocks all of the passes. Secretes cool
water to the west. To the sea. The radio plays ballroom jazz. Muffled
and static. Bells in the towers ring. The key must have gotten lost.

Time walks. Creeps. Keeps the bass line occupied. Skips a beat. Bleeds
and yearns for a forgotten past. A future lost. Gomorrah can feel it. Hair
tingles his arm. Tickles his neck. God and gods stung by their own victory.
The fire approaches. It comes to consume the hollow remains of the city.


Thank you for following along and reading!


4 thoughts on “Gomorrah – Part VII – A Poem

  1. Joseph, I apologize for being tardy in getting back to you but I have been busy and saved your emails. I am going to cut and paste your parts onto one document and read them all as a whole.

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