Who knew happiness was rooted within.
no need to sift through the old letters,
they’re done.
Reality is planted in the digits on the clock.
irrelevant are remorse and guilt.
While I challenge the hanging calendar,
squeezing black-inked X’s over our history.
I clench digits of some reality,
only to discover madness,
I’m done.
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 10:00 AM UTC
Who knew happiness was rooted within.
no need to sift through the old letters,
they’re done.
Reality is planted in the digits on the clock.
irrelevant are remorse and guilt.
While I challenge the hanging calendar,
squeezing black-inked X’s over our history.
I clench digits of some reality,
only to discover madness,
I’m done.
different title suggestions?
Request permission to use this poem