Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2018
Bach likened hope to god
Lauding in laurels like a living legend
He's dead, real dead, it's odd
Oddly deadly ditties
Harp on hope and mindful mitigation
Irrigation sows such sounds in fields
Of hearts who can't be found
Fiddled at a clavichord
Fixated on a face
Looking at her clavicle
With music
Sweetness can erase
Erasing dubious dealings
Let them leave my face
I need to forget the girl
Forget my heart and race
T R S
Written by
T R S  29/M
(29/M)   
137
   alwaystrying
Please log in to view and add comments on poems