Poem Hunter
The Fury Of Sunsets
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974 / Newton, Massachusetts)

The Fury Of Sunsets

cold is in the air,
an aura of ice
and phlegm.
All day I've built
a lifetime and now
the sun sinks to
undo it.
The horizon bleeds
and sucks its thumb.
The little red thumb
goes out of sight.
And I wonder about
this lifetime with myself,
this dream I'm living.
I could eat the sky
like an apple
but I'd rather
ask the first star:
why am I here?
why do I live in this house?
who's responsible?

User Rating: 2,7 / 5 ( 34 votes ) 6

Comments (6)

Yes your poem is delicious as the sunset
" Why do i live in this house? " Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Very interesting poem. Loved to read it. Thanks for sharing.
Meaning of life... a mute question... I hope heaven can answer.. lovely poem...
A very surreal meditation on life; courtesty of Anne Sexton.
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