Tiny Kingdoms Fall

tis the broken cup,
water boiling for the tea.
the curtain stained,
seven dollars in change.
the gas can empty,
the kerosene heater waits its call.
one last cigarette,
the hawk lost against the sky.
potatoes and ashes,
of such revolution.
things done out of season,
prayers spoken with shadows.
black and white photographs,
never eat or make love.
the world is shaken,
and tiny kingdoms fall!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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