Such pressure
to write
every moment
of every day
and make them
beautiful
even though
I am afraid.
I link these
severed chains
and toss the stone
into your lap.
Drag me
down the halls;
sweep me
across the floor.
Two waterfalls,
and a single flow.
A centered spiral,
where we converge
into paper
and into color.
DU LIEST GERADE
Dead Orchestras
PoesieA random assortment of poems with no particular running theme or plot. This will serve as the hub for most of my stand-alone poetry.
