In
quiet paces
pauses, and heart beats
when wind is asleep
and trees
have all the freedom to move,
I take
advances o'er the wake
and tread
or levitate
to apologies
Being this absent,
keeping this still
is a way
out of demolition
I'm so sorry
In light, as well as dark
I'm so unkind
It's kind of a lark
I'll turn the cold around
make it
a slingshot
and be whipped out of this,
into your arms
taken from the poetry book: The History Of Hate or The Perfectly Misunderstood Mate, on 7/24/05
0 comments:
Post a Comment