there are songs
in the anger
of the waves
upon the rocks
and the tearing
of the wind
through the long grass
in the plotting
of the clouds
gathering low
in the sky
and
in the droplets
whispering
upon the page

My heart is grief,
my skin is blood,
my voice is silence,
my soul is loneliness,
and my promise is broken

Textured red
rippled
hearts ill at ease

no rest for the wicked
its said
no rest for me

they hated you for no reason
because hatred
fed their want

wanting a scapegoat
to relieve
hearts bereft of love.

Sally's eyes followed the bouncing ball
Up and down the rubber hit the wall
Peter patter played swell
Back and forth in the well
When the ball lost its bounce, her eyes bawl

Logan Robertson

10/04/2019

It all went up in smoke
puffs of black
rising above the smokestacks
rising to the sky
one at a time came their turn  
of matters to ash

Logan Robertson

1/06/2020