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simone-zonaPoems
Sad and sunken, sloppy Reclining in their paperback seats Heads lolling forward like they are made of The rags they are clothed in. Rags they sleep with. Clutched like a child's Blankie to hold them down on the Concrete bed made from their cold and hard Voice, But soft words, that built their bones And concaved skulls, empty but Open like a bowl to be filled, Like their stomachs will remain unfilled, Like their stomachs Decaying, Un-used and un-taught. Soft, sloping, shoulders, Slick but slump tongue, Too heavy at the base of their throats To speak and sigh, They sway in their hollow frames And sink lower in the cold.
0
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 2:07 AM UTC
The *****
Sad and sunken, sloppy Reclining in their paperback seats Heads lolling forward like they are made of The rags they are clothed in. Rags they sleep with. Clutched like a child's Blankie to hold them down on the Concrete bed made from their cold and hard Voice, But soft words, that built their bones And concaved skulls, empty but Open like a bowl to be filled, Like their stomachs will remain unfilled, Like their stomachs Decaying, Un-used and un-taught. Soft, sloping, shoulders, Slick but slump tongue, Too heavy at the base of their throats To speak and sigh, They sway in their hollow frames And sink lower in the cold.
#poem#art#writing#ink#poetry#cold#humanity#society#freeverse
simone-zona
Written by
simone-zona
17/F
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 2:07 AM UTC
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