Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2022
these peaceful mornings have thought me to sit, breathe and admire,
smoke until the gentle light barely caresses the filter,
and rest my gaze upon still water.
cry to mimic the dew spun on spider...
webs to faint and inspire.
peaceful, quiet, muddied,
it is rather dire to feel September.
to crawl in its mist and pray for tears to cleanse this swollen stare, these hands enclosing earth, Atlas-like torture.
the mist morphs into smoke morphs into prismatic projections of some ecstasy I've been craving.
I've spotted everything with ash, my lips, the pages I've been turning, these palms withholding;
patience for a life unlived.
Written by
stranger  F/🌙
Please log in to view and add comments on poems