Under Paris

Easy to forget hot wings
were once feathered
just as easy to forget
these bones were once people

I slip away from my tour
of the Catacombs to wander alone
to hold someone’s skull in my hand
marvel at its fragility

This sonnet is not about death
though we’re all going to die
and Shelley did it better

So I return the skull to its place
like a naughty child caught playing
with a delicate porcelain angel

(For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Catacomb.)

About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
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10 Responses to Under Paris

  1. ivor20 says:

    Thought provoking Bart …

    Liked by 1 person

  2. JeanMarie says:

    That last stanza, that one.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Loved this and the ending worked for me too! ❤❌❤

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Susi Bocks says:

    Wonderful, Bart! You give us so much to ponder about existence in this piece. :)

    Liked by 1 person

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