Ugly mass of what we spent
lying in the emptiness
of less than nothing
and greater than everything
owed to us
There the perpetual tick
that cannot stop
just under the skin
like a rock
skipping across
our pool of regret
And we are caught
in places we should not
dwell
Trapped in these dried up
wishing wells
Wish us well
you passerby
Look for any
tears in these eyes
but do not stay here
oh so long
listening to
voiceless songs
(August 16th, 2017)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
