Twenty Four Years

Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.

by Dylan Thomas

Comments (2)

With my red veins full of money, In the final direction of the elementary town I advance as long as forever is. Loved the poem.
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out