“Those pretty little stars,”
Their jagged tendrils blinding,
Etched patterns on the water writhing -
You can never see beside me,
Always will strain behind me.
I see all alone.
My spine warped from prostration
I will kneel, passive, before them.
I pray you won’t, callous, contour them -
You shouldn’t even try to look.
Their power straight through my soul shook
A hole. “Steady the boat.”
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
“Those pretty little stars,”
Their jagged tendrils blinding,
Etched patterns on the water writhing -
You can never see beside me,
Always will strain behind me.
I see all alone.
My spine warped from prostration
I will kneel, passive, before them.
I pray you won’t, callous, contour them -
You shouldn’t even try to look.
Their power straight through my soul shook
A hole. “Steady the boat.”
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