Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2013
If spring draws the earth
in golden streaks of life,
I long to hear
the songs of the bluejay.

I long to hear anything.

For all I hear when you open
your mouth
is a chime of chide
and the rustle of grit:

the grinding of your
restless heart
so full of
hate.
rained-on parade
Written by
rained-on parade  Sheffield, England
(Sheffield, England)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems