that hair's strands come raining down in tattered fringes.
or that the hole in the creased, greasy blue shirt...
when looking to the sky for answers-
it should not be inevitable that the heaven's glossy tears
blot out all happiness...
it musn't be left silent - as the flickering whisper
because the freckled and o' so-sallied flesh*
are as evident as
an unfinished simile.
the shallow waters regarded
as barren footprints imprint their nostalgic lips
into empty desks. the breath of meaning
fogging up the windows -
always hoping the next stair will be perfect -
more than the last,
when in fact, wishing- SEARCHING is
the downfall of needy men.
Please login or register to comment.
Registration is required because of issues with spam. It is fast and free! This author would LOVE to get a comment from you, please join!
Comment added. You earned points!
Comments over 100 letters long (this was ) are eligible for points, which you can use to feature your work.
-
right now
Adding your comment:
