This holographic poem
Was written by the personated tree
That reminds me of you
For although I may lack the valour
To emancipate your battered heart
I'm hoping this far-flung poem
Not to be mistaken for amatory
But rather a gift
From the stairs
That take comfort in the echo
Of your whispered secrets
This inessential concoction
Of words has been formed
By the stand-still bench
Trapped in the memory of you
This incongruous composition
Of cluttered abstractions
Was conjured up by the
Missing skin on your wrists
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
I believe
That you are stone
Wrapped in skin
With crimson tone
From within
A tone of hope
A tone of fight
To those in shadows soaked
A call to join the light
I believe
That you are rare
That in the rising tide
The mighty tempest ride
Leave your captive chains behind
And let your stone-willed words declare
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
My skin
My paper thin
Not so soft skin
Is kissed by night sky
I'm scarred by the motion of your lips
Cracked by your whispers
My skin
My paper thin
not so soft skin
Is painted in red
I'm scratched by your brush
Wounded by your strokes
My skin
My paper thin
Not so soft skin
Is covered in memories
I'm reminded of your attention
Marked by your accessories
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC