My eyes staying in your veil of poetic peace,
squeezing out fear and intimidating fact
that the void will be coined
by the other
The horizontal slides from its straight ruler
certificating broken sunlight against the blind bokeh,
swaying the Nos, I'll be going when my time can't hold the truth
Your identity softens my years of solitary
my fear trips over your sincerity,
but I know it's hard to gaze at the sea
when the wave crashes down on my knees
My last plea
is could you not stray away from me
I can do best by turning back against the sea
and be as the weak wind
So you can take the hold of the blow
So I was told that I was gone
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC
My eyes staying in your veil of poetic peace,
squeezing out fear and intimidating fact
that the void will be coined
by the other
The horizontal slides from its straight ruler
certificating broken sunlight against the blind bokeh,
swaying the Nos, I'll be going when my time can't hold the truth
Your identity softens my years of solitary
my fear trips over your sincerity,
but I know it's hard to gaze at the sea
when the wave crashes down on my knees
My last plea
is could you not stray away from me
I can do best by turning back against the sea
and be as the weak wind
So you can take the hold of the blow
So I was told that I was gone
Request permission to use this poem