Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Michaela Kirsten Nov 2011
A pen, screaming
For a shaking, anxious hand.

Paper, blank
With shy thoughts,
Soaked in spilled tea
From the result of frustration.

A desk, sore
From knives carving
The displaced loves of past youth
Into its heart.
Michaela Kirsten Nov 2011
Along the path of those forgotten,
And the dried result of nature’s change,
That’s where I’ll find you, the same.

My avidity plummets with them,
My secrets too.
My mind shifts its colors,
All for you.

The breeze holds the soft, cool desolation,
And it’s more powerful than I.
It crashes around the earth,
And takes everything, dry.

Along the path of those forgotten,
And the dried result of nature’s change,
That’s where I’ll find you, the same.

— The End —