He laughed a little, but
His eyes left
Already forgotten
What I'd said
As I slipped from the room.
Waved, gingering hair, it did,
Likely to miss me on
That busy head.
Surrounded by the thick dark
That feels like swimming.
In truth, I enjoyed our chat,
However short he made it,
But I couldn't forget
Those quivering eyes
And the way they settled
As I left.
It wasn't only me,
Many others try
Miners all the lot of us
But sculptors carve the rock better
And by now
All he is is stone.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 3:45 AM UTC
He laughed a little, but
His eyes left
Already forgotten
What I'd said
As I slipped from the room.
Waved, gingering hair, it did,
Likely to miss me on
That busy head.
Surrounded by the thick dark
That feels like swimming.
In truth, I enjoyed our chat,
However short he made it,
But I couldn't forget
Those quivering eyes
And the way they settled
As I left.
It wasn't only me,
Many others try
Miners all the lot of us
But sculptors carve the rock better
And by now
All he is is stone.
A poem on appearances and how people see me (it's about me). Yes, I have started writing poems about myself. Think what you will :D
