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sarah-ryanPoems
Try not to make eye contact And monitor your breath If you breathe too quickly The little birds escape With a song so pitiful That all would stop to watch The flock spiral around rooftops Into the air searching for An escape from the sky. Breath too deeply And an injured wildcat Caterwauling like-- A trash disposal when clogged Limps through the Aisle of the metro train, Looking back and forth At the crowded intersection, Eyes fixed on the bit of grass In front of the park bench. Searching for something She can’t remember She lost. Count your breaths, but Loosen your irises And allow the tiny Pearls that reflect the world Roll like little boys marbles Over your cheeks Leaving delicate trails in Their absence. Lines Written in clear ink Formed by glittering Salt dust. One by one Marking a rivulet of pain that Does not betray you.
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
The Art of Crying Quietly
Try not to make eye contact And monitor your breath If you breathe too quickly The little birds escape With a song so pitiful That all would stop to watch The flock spiral around rooftops Into the air searching for An escape from the sky. Breath too deeply And an injured wildcat Caterwauling like-- A trash disposal when clogged Limps through the Aisle of the metro train, Looking back and forth At the crowded intersection, Eyes fixed on the bit of grass In front of the park bench. Searching for something She can’t remember She lost. Count your breaths, but Loosen your irises And allow the tiny Pearls that reflect the world Roll like little boys marbles Over your cheeks Leaving delicate trails in Their absence. Lines Written in clear ink Formed by glittering Salt dust. One by one Marking a rivulet of pain that Does not betray you.
sarah-ryan
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sarah-ryan
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
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