Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2013
I spread gravel once
flat across a lawn...
wishing it was me.

I made a trash bag-wreath once
white-pure strips of plastic...
wishing it was me.

I looked up at the delicate sky
held in place forever
crying to be fleeting
trapped in existence: eternity.

I heard family ghost stories once
stained branches on family tree...
wishing it was me.
RMatheson
Written by
RMatheson  Beating tired bones
(Beating tired bones)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems