Sometime i pray
To undo the things i say
To go back
And replay
To just . . . . feel okay
Better than okay
(sometimes i pray to cry)
i ask to cry
To cry again
To feel again
to take the pain
And drive it with rage
But rather
i take it to heart
i drag it down,
to the pit of my soul
where i hardly feel
where i can barely see
it's a melancholic place
but tears never escape my face
it seems stuck, like saddened fate
The clock struck
But now it's stuck
no longer makes a ruck__us
instead it's tucked us
with no time in the muck
waiting on luck,
To Pluck . . .
the arrow that's stuck
Like a duck
out of water
Trying to buck
the time it's been given
the time that's stood silent
To dive in
open ravines
To stand in
Patiently
Awaiting
The clock to strike again
To liven up again
To relive again
To count seconds again
To know, the tide
Hasn't lucked us out of time
To know, in the end
That life hasn't f'd us up again
we're not tied up again
afraid of falling in
we're slowly standing
Living again
In rushing water
We are silent
We are the strait
In the cold solent
Connecting two
between our arms
holding at bay
to our own dismay
Flood gating pressure
From separated sides
Preserving the distance
Between the tides
YOU ARE READING
Ouidas' Rose
Poetrya collection of rambles, of shattered letters, of quiet musings and heart throbs that feel like drum drops someone grab my teddy bear so I no longer feel the darkness
