The Room of Dirty Black by Tony Ashenden 💫 #poem #ThriveTogether #wisewords #WritingCommunity @CoffeeandaChat1

‘Tis small, of queer shape

and smells of rot.

A hole in the ground

in dark quarters

of a busy town,

which passes by

on the other side

under bright sun,

sees no twilight

or smells the damp

of that hole in the ground.

‘Tis below a house

joined to another,

whispering ghosts

that echo and brood

about the dim light

in that queer little room,

where doors hang in torment

ceiling sags low

and the walls weep

in the face of a fire.

It exists

in a road stretched long

by half broken abodes.

This comfort is home

last corner to squat,

where the right to exist

Is fearsomely said

the last ditch rage

perpetually bled,

Water and blood

from a proud old black,

a scarred pair of boots

Hand-me-downs sold,

leather from a disused whip.

Tis a basement flat

‘Doctors orders’ Dirty Black.

The number that’s red,

a stab in the map.

The hymen grown over

the passage to birth

from Enterprise chamber

It’s a smell sight 

that spits at the marbled halls

a thorn left out of a crucifix crown.


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