The great turbines now rusted
I wonder if I can still cry
the heavens make it look so easy
when tears fall from the sky
the wet rags of emotion can no longer be wrung
the sobs to the beat of a tearful drip have been sung
those sonnets have been passed to another's lungs
another's tongue
are tears what it means to be young
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
The great turbines now rusted
I wonder if I can still cry
the heavens make it look so easy
when tears fall from the sky
the wet rags of emotion can no longer be wrung
the sobs to the beat of a tearful drip have been sung
those sonnets have been passed to another's lungs
another's tongue
are tears what it means to be young