It was of sticks and stones,
They shaped the words
That leave my breathless lips
And catch on the ends of your ears.
It was of moths and flames,
They guided my hopeful eyes
To the cracked sidewalks
That I would soon know as home.
It was of strings and tan paper,
They wrapped my heart
Like a present you didn't want to receive
But you accepted with a slim smile anyway.
It was of mist and fog,
That filled my clouded lungs
And drowned out my words
So they could never hang on the lobes of your ears.
But I like a mountain in the wind
Let you breeze past me,
The scent of warm blankets and hot rod cars
Passed with you
But your breeze whispered to me
At once the mist and fog cleared
And the moths receded from the flames
And the stones felt like mere pebbles
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
It was of sticks and stones,
They shaped the words
That leave my breathless lips
And catch on the ends of your ears.
It was of moths and flames,
They guided my hopeful eyes
To the cracked sidewalks
That I would soon know as home.
It was of strings and tan paper,
They wrapped my heart
Like a present you didn't want to receive
But you accepted with a slim smile anyway.
It was of mist and fog,
That filled my clouded lungs
And drowned out my words
So they could never hang on the lobes of your ears.
But I like a mountain in the wind
Let you breeze past me,
The scent of warm blankets and hot rod cars
Passed with you
But your breeze whispered to me
At once the mist and fog cleared
And the moths receded from the flames
And the stones felt like mere pebbles
