Over our head
creeps big time,
the only thing that is.
Freshly folded moment,
to alive to die,
Witness to the break
in the softer water's wave.
Now, back, forced to see,
no salve for the blind.
Sometimes, oh to be blind.
One is eleven's rhyme.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
Over our head
creeps big time,
the only thing that is.
Freshly folded moment,
to alive to die,
Witness to the break
in the softer water's wave.
Now, back, forced to see,
no salve for the blind.
Sometimes, oh to be blind.
One is eleven's rhyme.
An older piece.
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