We hit a wall. Our vaguely sour
And broken dialogue drives us mad,
Like we can't quite finish a sentence.
Poles apart. Outside, the darkening clouds
Brood like the foul memory of
An insult, long forgiven, but
Not forgotten.
Our lines split and our words echo,
Writhing in agony, torn and bro-
Ken. Trying to form a question
On our tongues, rolling like hot oil,
Leaves raw burns in our minds. We lie
In quiet then, a rainless storm of
Unspoken fears.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 8:13 PM UTC
We hit a wall. Our vaguely sour
And broken dialogue drives us mad,
Like we can't quite finish a sentence.
Poles apart. Outside, the darkening clouds
Brood like the foul memory of
An insult, long forgiven, but
Not forgotten.
Our lines split and our words echo,
Writhing in agony, torn and bro-
Ken. Trying to form a question
On our tongues, rolling like hot oil,
Leaves raw burns in our minds. We lie
In quiet then, a rainless storm of
Unspoken fears.
© Lewis Hyden
Request permission to use this poem