Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

Home Following Inbox Notifications

Read

Read Lifted Feeds Hearted History My poems New poem

Explore

Explore Orbits Words Tags Classics

Log in

0

Stars

0

Embers

0

Alerts

0

Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

Home Following Inbox Notifications

Read

Read Lifted Feeds Hearted History My poems New poem

Explore

Explore Orbits Words Tags Classics

Log in

0

Stars

0

Embers

0

Alerts

0

Inbox

Waste of Paint

Everyone has a ghost.

Some call them their first love.

I call mine you.

You're my ghost,

the stone in my heart.

And how does one -

erode a stone?

Vitrification?

Turn you into something,

pleasing to touch?

Oh -

but my hands are -

cold as snow.

Request permission to use this poem

Written by

beau-phoenix-rose

Australian

Published: Dec 25, 2012
LinesWords: 1348

Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell beau-phoenix-rose how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

About Blog FAQ Privacy Terms Contact

Explore

Hello PoetryVoting

Write