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jdlcrz_Poems
After great pain, a formal feeling comes-- The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Toombs-- The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round-- Of Ground, or Air, or Ought-- A Wooden way Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone-- This is the Hour of Lead-- Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons recollect the Snow-- First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--
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Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
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After great pain, a formal feeling comes-- The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Toombs-- The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round-- Of Ground, or Air, or Ought-- A Wooden way Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone-- This is the Hour of Lead-- Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons recollect the Snow-- First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--
#pain#hurt#cry#chill#heart#love#great#life
Written by
jdlcrz_
14/M
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
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