Taste (D27 #NaPoWriMo)


It was not bitter
This acrid taste
Endured, as
City fell and dreams
Like paper curled
And burnt, charred
Black and crumbled
Whilst buildings fell,
And warriors sank,
Face first, into the
Tainted, soot-stained earth;
But acrid, hope like
Wine turned sour,
I let it linger
Lest time, resolve,
And circumstance
Obscure it, and I forget
The geas the fall
Of City kin and friend
Had singed upon my soul.

© Greg Richards

Day 27, A poem that explores a sense of taste, of an experience rather than a thing.

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