Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2014
We'd walk for hours
without speaking.
The use of a speacial sign language
was what we spoke,
pointing fingers,
circling our arms,
sometimes curling fingers
to assure ourselves
everything was a-okay.

Tapping magazines
while resting in sand
& the occasional explosion,
screaming
or automatic fire
was all we ever heard
in ghostland.
Jonny Angel
Written by
Jonny Angel  GRB090423
(GRB090423)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems