There is so much of you,
so little of me.
Feeling quite encumbered.
Your touch envelops my senses.
Eyes of fire, ignited.
I might be somewhere flying,
when your wings lie still--displaced.
Confusions of sudden fervor.
Listening, waiting, informing.
Nevers happen when cement dries.
Abrasions don't wash away.
I'm climbing up the traces.
The world's parade of faces.
Searching, never finding hope.
So much of you,
so little of me.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
There is so much of you,
so little of me.
Feeling quite encumbered.
Your touch envelops my senses.
Eyes of fire, ignited.
I might be somewhere flying,
when your wings lie still--displaced.
Confusions of sudden fervor.
Listening, waiting, informing.
Nevers happen when cement dries.
Abrasions don't wash away.
I'm climbing up the traces.
The world's parade of faces.
Searching, never finding hope.
So much of you,
so little of me.
