It's just poetry, it won't bite

Sunday Morning

02.26.17 Posted in today's words by

Sunday Morning
By Mark Butler

In this old building life is liquid.
It seeps through creaking floors—
a weeping marriage, a nagging, wet
cough, the kindness of soup.

We live in our private rooms, the doors
bolted, peering through smudged
windows while joy and sorrow course through
the common walls, flooding the stairwell.

6 Responses to “Sunday Morning”

  1. Frank Adams says:

    I really like this poem – that life is liquid, seeping in around us as we peer through smudged windows, etc. so deeply felt and well expressed. Very moving – a beautiful poem.

  2. Jean M Hendrickson says:

    Mark, I love this poem, the sense, the sound, the way it makes me feel. Thank you.

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