Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2018
Within my pockets warming
were ten of my most golden note makers
Inside my eye sockets storming
were flights, frightful fleeting sheets
imaging up nightmare sections
And wrecking my hard earned heart heat

Up in the sky, a warning
Ten of a kind up high were warming on thermals
Flying, getting high on the heat of the air held up by the earth.
T R S
Written by
T R S  29/M
(29/M)   
  347
   Fawn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems