On my way to work one morning I saw a man lying on the street outside a shop, oblivious to the blazing sunshine and swarm of people that passed by. It inspired me to write this poem. As usual, all comments are welcome.
By Patrick Smith
Void
On concrete feathers
he lies, beneath
a raging sun
eyes slack with sleep.
Around him pound
scorn laced feet
that make a chalky
trail, a body wide.
Awake he dreams,
mares of day that
shake in screams
hoarse with need.
Plaques of his past
invade his head
like tangled caves
glossed in crystal snow.
He is Pompeii;
a man of ash
moulded into
an addict’s shell.
Clodagh O'Brien 
. . . and this is from the woman thinks she should give up Poetry and concentrate on Prose? Maybe it is a good idea, as she places the bar so high for the rest of us! 😉
…your lovely comment is making me reconsider, and bar wise I am chasing you! 🙂
WOW, I just love that last stanza!
Thanks so much Jean! 🙂