Oct 2018
Silver shining clouds blue,
squeezing tears out of,
choking twisting melting,
screaming skies.
colors deepen to mock me,
here eyes are ice cold blue,
I remember is was cold,
December my heart still,
a burning ember,
New friendship washing over,
tight and tense<
Like spring,
we walk over a bridge,
Its hate full and wants,
to go back to being dirt.
squeezing tears out of,
choking twisting melting,
screaming skies.
colors deepen to mock me,
here eyes are ice cold blue,
I remember is was cold,
December my heart still,
a burning ember,
New friendship washing over,
tight and tense<
Like spring,
we walk over a bridge,
Its hate full and wants,
to go back to being dirt.
Should every poem flow? Should every poem rhyme? Or is it a enough that the poet conveys those illusive feelings that cant be put into words we call poetry?
(Existing)
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