Dec 2020
No rest for tired eyes.
They quake like a hatching egg,
As they reach their closure.
Through continued exposure,
The light begins to sting;
Needles in my veins,
Making shattered window panes.
Where’d the glass go?
They quake like a hatching egg,
As they reach their closure.
Through continued exposure,
The light begins to sting;
Needles in my veins,
Making shattered window panes.
Where’d the glass go?
If you’ve read my previous poetry I reference glass as an immaculate barrier. If not, no worries because I explained what was necessary.
