The Lives of Inanimate Objects – Eduard Dantes

The sad song of a guitar

Is the sorrowful cry

Of wood chopped, carved and treated

Before its time.

 

Its angry notes

Are the malevolent howls

Of the ghost of a tree.

 

That scent issued by paper

Is the smell of rotting trees

And materials once possessive of life

Put together to form a mild poison.

 

The booms of drumbeats

And clangs of cymbals

Are the metered shouts

Of the strike of a stick

Meted out onto the defeated back!

 

Oh and so much worse

For the products of industry, commerce and progress,

 

For the sound of disappearing money

That clang of two pounds

When you needed three

For the meal

Is a last ditch act at revenge

From a mother irreparably damaged.

eduard696dantes

his name rhymes with ‘mince’. He’s rarely without a notebook and can usually be found next to the closest bottle of red wine. Previously a writer for The Roehampton Lane Journal.

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