Poem: The Property Market

A poem about foul secrets.

I’ve kept to strict poetic forms for a long time and learned much.  I feel like I’ve earned a go-ahead from myself; yes, now I can start experimenting with elements of free form. I’ve gotten to know the box, so lets see what happens when I break out of it.
As for the subject matter: my family is currently trying to sell the house. It’s gotten me thinking about what our rooms communicate to potential buyers about us, the current inhabitants. You’ll be pleased to know I abhor cruelty to animals, which also features here. Thinking about those who commit such acts however was an interesting subject to use in art.

The Property Market

I

The Birds  twitch.
Stolen feathers, bloodied stumps,
Ripped stitches…

Victims, playthings,
Flavours of the season.

Their caretaker,
Trusted by locals, joker in the pubs,
Turns a key with familiar ease.

II

The auctioneer leaves the clients to talk,
Inspects the next room, prepares a speech
To fire minds to the use one may find
For a windowless chamber.

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3 thoughts on “Poem: The Property Market

  1. Pingback: The Actor and the Visionaries (Poem) | Human Wild Type

  2. Pingback: The Wood-Faery’s Corruption | Human Wild Type

  3. Pingback: The Wood Faery’s Corruption | Human Wild Type

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