"bowtied" poems
Beauty is fleeting,
but chase it I will.
Still waters run deep,
but also breed ill.
And in the midst of my travels,
a young girl might weep,
for reaching the summit,
only excites what's steep.
And so I am shallow,
withered and fatigued,
crawling on all fours,
my kneecaps bleed.
Yet amongst these shades of fall,
I pray for your green,
to compliment my troubles,
oh shape shifting queen.
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 5:12 PM UTC