the polished glass glittered
in the afternoon rare sun on a rainy day;
and I wept another long hurricane
into nothingness,
imprisoned,
in my own wealth
of pitying.
shall I ever come in contact
with the glaring rays,
I might as well be turned into dust;
so I skitter away towards the
brass rings,
burning myself a tattoo of the
cavalry.
long since the moon
came haunting my daydreams,
I have drawn yet another weary wish
in the starry skies,
of my proclivity;
but that proved me not enough
as I let go of another garbled sigh
that shot through the nocturne
like a rabid on fire.
I have long since lost hope,
setting my race steady forth
without much prudence.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoetryA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
