"frosted" poems
I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold cause I can’t live without you baby.
The water-wheel of that old mill,
the wildflowers growing on that hill,
the small town life, it moved so slow,
gave us time to get to know,
each other's hearts and let love grow...
…so fruitful all the time we had,
through thick and thin, good and bad,
but eventually you had to go-oh.
I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold but I can’t live without you baby.
I cast your ashes in the stream,
beneath the water-wheel that made you beam,
that smile I will not forget and all the happiness that came with it,
and here I sit alone and sad, reflecting on the times we had,
coastal waves to pink sunset, on that first day that we met,
some later rainy but not to wet, -still I couldn’t live without you baby.
And I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart now frosted cold, forced to live without you baby,
I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold cause I can’t live without you baby.
I can’t live without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby,
Here I am without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby…
Forget the things that come and go, those stories surrounding times of old, your lover’s heart will not grow cold when you can think about your baby,
I can’t live without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby,
Here I am without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby…
...here I am without you baby...
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
This distance between you and me,
Feels like it's half a world and it just might be.
Wherever you are, or ever might go
Know that I'm still waiting for you.
Waiting to hold your hand in mine,
Embrace your sweet skin in my arms.
I wait for the day.
Beyond the frosted glass there you are,
Touch you I could not,
If I called you couldn't hear.
With no visible way of interaction,
Hope is lost for an ever after,
And my heart overweight.
I wait for the day.
Keep looking forward to the day we meet
For the light in our eyes shall brighten the sky again,
Move on forward and destiny might plan the day
When both our paths entwine and merge
Oh glorious day that day will be.
Forever and ever after might be written on my sheet.
I'll definitely wait for that day.
I'll patiently wait for that day
When we can indulge in our time,
Go through life together like a game
By earning achievements and ranks.
Grow old together and gross our kin
With the passion and love we share.
Oh how I keep waiting for the day.
When I see you out in the distance
Dashing as anyone could be
Not long now until we meet
And say hello and I'd love to spend my time with you,
Laugh and cuddle together under the mellow moon,
Watch the meteor shower and end the night with a kiss.
I've been waiting for the day.
Lights go out and the day turns into night.
A hint of light coming from a corner
The curtains open and unveil
I'm all alone in the moonlit night,
Thinking about the days I lie waiting for you.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 7:00 PM UTC
A body still from excitement
Head to the sky, waiting
A whole frosted dance is about to appear
Earth’s colossal yet gentle hands grab the sun
And turn off the gleaming lights
Darkness
Restful darkness
The ample wind covers the area
Like an invisible curtain of chilled silk
Then a moment of calm
Everything is still
As if a single picture was taken
Vibrant silver angels in their white cotton
Fall from endless stage in the sky
Embodying the frozen air
Thrusting their ****** dance
As they float towards the ground
These suggestive pale dancers
Land on your still excited body
Using it as their new birthed platform
They use their sensual ballet
To send ice cold stings through your bones
To bring a ****** tingle to your mind
Until your heart ******* to a perky smile.
This is called the seductive winter dance
Able to make your mouth gleam
And your soul tickle
Embrace the frigid sensation
As you give birth to your inner thrill
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
Perhaps I'm encased in a box
made out of two-way glass.
A biased one-way mirror...
Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass.
When you look at me,
you only see,
yourself for all that you care...
Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.
Maybe that's why...
you ask about my life,
about my strife.
When I'm about to unload my
head,
I end up having to hear about yours
instead.
Perhaps at times I travel around
in a bubble of frosted glass.
Only a blurred version of me...
Clumsily ploughing through the mass.
Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear.
Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.
Maybe that's why...
My words are just perceived as
playful rhymes.
Never keeping up with the times.
Words regurgitated but no one
realises what's coming undone...
Perhaps what I need
is an armour of bulletproof glass.
One of unique quality...
One ahead of its class.
You can do and say what you want.
A shell that would bear most of the brunt.
*I'll be impervious.
I'll be protected.
I can be indifferent.
I can be jaded.*
Maybe that's all I need...
*A shocking stunt.
A fresh perspective.
A new plan.
Revised objectives.*
Maybe a different name to start all
over...
To tie the binds and thoughts that
scatter...
Hoping of holding everything
together...
Come morning, all will be
forgotten...
Maybe I'd still be beaten.
So for a chance that's,
fat as hell
or
thin just a sliver...
Truth is of the three, I have neither...
So...
what I've said doesn't really matter.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
MIST CREEPING SLOWLY
The morning found
only blood & feathers.
The fox leaving
only Death
& its presence
& the gossip of the frightened chickens.
My uncle swearing
‘til the sky was blue
(early morning clouds that the sun shone through) .
An embarrassed ****
like a mad alarm clock
crying like a cartoon “cock-a-doodle-do! ”
My uncle dispatching him
with a quick kick.
“Oh yeah, and where the hell were you? ”
I take in the scene of the massacre
& whisper:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a chicken! ”
* * *
All that next week
my uncle stalked the chicken coup
waiting for the fox
who was clever enough
not to turn up
until the eight day
driven by his hunger & his nature
she stared into my uncle’s cold metallic sight
& the evil acrid smell of a cartridge caught in flight
as both it & the fox(shot through the head)
fell dead
at my uncle’s muddied boot.
My gentle uncle delirious with Death
the frosted air
stained with his breath.
His voice almost transformed
into an animalistic hoot:
“Hey boy, betcha didn’t know I
could shoot! ”
The good side of the fox’s face
seemed to still laugh
at the very idea of Death.
I whimpered:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a fox! ”
The countryside
brutal & Biblical
demanding
a life for a life
Yet all I could see
was Death...Death.
Priest-like...
I knelt & whispered
a quick act of contrition
to the fox’s carcase.
My uncle probably thought
I was barmy.
That night in celebration
my uncle wrung a chicken’s neck
(the chicken’s name was Patricia)
& I declined the clean
white breast
still haunted
by the chicken & the fox’s
death.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
I peered into the future and saw
Possibilities dancing in semi-reality
like snowflakes beneath a stormy sky.
But the one before us was clear
as ice upon the frosted curved glass.
A madness has spread among
the countless peoples of the world.
A disease of the mind which makes it seem
to the sick man as if they are made
of glass. A fragile thing, so
frail and delicate they might break
upon any but the softest impact.
The afflicted, day and night, scream in fear
at any possible contact harder
than the lightest touch.
“I’ll break”, their blood-chilling screams
echo through the empty halls of history.
The world has broken in this future
like a music-box wound down to
silence. Men and women hide in
padded chambers, for fear of breaking
their porcelain forms upon a pavement
or stones a toddler could step over.
A cure for the glass does not exist,
save for a light tap to show the ill
that they are more than they believe.
Yet the sick would rather not be healed
than face the reality of their own resilience.
The world cannot hurt you, my friend,
but you yourself can hurt the world
and shatter it like a crystalline snowglobe.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
A moments shy smile,
Two guppies intertwined
Crafty hand work
With something swimming viciously through your
Dark eyes
I long only to ask;
Assist you
As you've done to me
But I know you'd only close me out
Bashful Mr Pisces
Weakness is not defined by the admittance
To not being strong
For I've seen terror and sorrow
In your gaze
For far too long
My concerns and listening soul
Will be postponed until next week
For I cannot bear to see
Your frosted eyes melting
&
The Ice Queen making you weep
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
The buzzer is ringing, the cookies are done
now I'll eat them one by one
The smooth frosting just like silk
wash them down with chocolate milk
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
i don’t think I found myself in the poetry, i think i am finding myself in your arms
under the gentle pressure of your fingertips and the velvet embrace of your words.
they think I found myself in the halls of the airport that it walked alone
but
i think i am finding myself in the kitchen of your flat, waiting for the kettle to come to a boil; in cups of tea nursed at the table and I hope that’s okay.
i sip in the same tentative manner that i reach for your hand in the dark; you may have the effervescent beauty of a tree in the autumn but right now i would like to lace my fingers with yours and be human together. i hope that’s okay.
you are like literature and myth; a deep and sprawling spectrum of contradictions and complexities. i feel like teiresias; blind and trapped within my own self-made cocoon of spiralling thoughts.
eyes closed i reach for your hand.
i almost miss my stop on the last train home spilling out sweet words about your everything.
her hair straight out of bed with soft eyes and parted lips, sculpted by aphrodite; carved from the finest marble i want her to pin me down,
to the bed, to reality-
her lips, to guide me
from her waist and back
to sanity. early in the morning
when she wakes up tangled in sheets
with her eyes peeking up over her phone,
soft smile on her lips.
the world stands still in the soft glow of flickering street lights like visible heartbeats, glowing and not glowing in tandem, and the windows are frosted along the edges; worrying a cracked lip between my front teeth i realise this may be the most I have ever thought about tea.
our fingers
tangle, grasp sheets or cheeks rosy
with first-kiss smiles. eyelids
crinkle.
you are butterflies in my stomach, fear and exhilaration, honesty and hope
you are
listening to the same song on repeat; your laugh is the song stuck in my head, every song i’ve ever loved,
the only song i want to listen to.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
The month of crescent moons and indigo flamed candles.
Of burning sage and twinkling hooded lights flickering in frosted windows.
Of chipped nail varnish and lips chapped with bitter cold.
Of darkened mornings with knitted scarves wrapped beneath pink noses and wet lashes.
Of lonely evergreens and sleigh bells a distant howl in the wind.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
Lonely and cold,
I wait for love
beside the frosted window
while dreams of fireflies
sparkle in the snow.
I sip black coffee
from my mug, quietly,
so I don't wake them...
Because I know when summer comes
I’ll have found someone
and I want to make sure they're all well rested
so they can swirl around my lover and me
when our soft lips spark
for the first time
like flint,
so I can watch them drown out
in that new lovelight
that'll glow furiously when dusk
cinders into darkness.
But for now
I'll have to deal with the darkest months
alone
while they lay on the lawn
asleep under the moon
with beautiful dreams.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
On her way to work one morning
Down the path along side the lake
A tender hearted woman saw a poor half frozen snake
His pretty colored skin had been all frosted with the dew
"Poor thing," she cried, "I'll take you in and I'll take care of you"
"Take me in tender woman
Take me in, for heaven's sake
Take me in, tender woman," sighed the snake
She wrapped him all cozy in a comforter of silk
And laid him by her fireside with some honey and some milk
She hurried home from work that night and soon as she arrived
She found that pretty snake she'd taken to had bee revived
"Take me in, tender woman
Take me in, for heaven's sake
Take me in, tender woman," sighed the snake
She clutched him to her ***** "You're so beautiful," she cried
"But if I hadn't brought you in by now you might have died"
She stroked his pretty skin again and kissed and held him tight
Instead of saying thanks, the snake gave her a vicious bite
"Take me in, tender woman
Take me in, for heaven's sake
Take me in, tender woman," sighed the snake
"I saved you," cried the woman
"And you've bitten me, but why?
You know your bite is poisonous and now I'm going to die"
"Oh shut up, silly woman," said the reptile with a grin
"You knew **** well I was a snake before you took me in
"Take me in, tender woman
Take me in, for heaven's sake
Take me in, tender woman," sighed the snake
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC
your hair appears darker
when wet.
black, corded,
thick as puzzlegrass.
a companion in contrast
to frosted
cupcake blue eyes and
incense burning
in the ashtray.
memories thrown
in the laundry pile
with the wet towel
swirling upon
your head.
your smile
bitter as asparagus,
staining my *****
for the next two days.
your frame
soft and slender
as balsa wood.
I’d eat your air
freshly oxygenated
and bend you into
an arc.
the waves would split
on your bow
and shower my face
wet
dark
corded
thick as puzzlegrass.
then
from your finger
the standard of a
dove leaving
olive branch in
mouth
into the frosted
cupcake blue
sky.
a miracle in
the eye of the
waning storm.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
I know that you can see me
because you turn your eyes away
and I know that you can hear me
by the things you do not say
How can we be so far apart
when I'm stood right by your side
Is there any chance you'd find me
if I chose to run and hide?
I feel just like a ghost sometimes
yet I'm the one that's haunted
by memories of happy times
not times by isolation taunted
My life is a frosted vacuum
at least to me that's how it seems
where no one can see my tears
and not a soul can hear my screams
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
Preach poverty and patience to the poor,
When snarling winter packs hunt down the old;
Push them away and shun them from your door
Feed hungry souls with sermons and rapport,
Old shepherds, keep your flocks unto the fold;
Preach poverty and patience to the poor
When heaven's snow attests to hallowed floor
And beggars plead for mercy from the cold,
Push them away and shun them from your door
When hungry children cry 'a little more'
And clamour forth with rusted tins they hold,
Preach poverty and patience to the poor
When brothers, plague and famine, reach the shore,
The weak and dying seek to be consoled;
Push them away and shun them from your door
When paupers come with frosted feet to thaw,
And fill the hall to hear kind words unfold:
Preach poverty and patience to the poor,
Push them away and shun them from your door
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
Said the Prince unto his raven-haired Lady as he rode and galloped away,
He leaned back and this is what he had to say:
“Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.”
Jack O’Lantern prowls and haunts the frosted hills hunting to ****** for fresh meat.
This monster, this dark beast creeps down from upon the heath!
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
“Where be the Lord of this warm and happy house?” says Jack O’Lantern with claws tapping.
“Gone to London town,” says the Nurse the coins from Jack receiving.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
“Where be the lovely Lady of this house?” smiles Jack O’Lantern mouth full of jagged teeth.
“She’s in her red chamber,” says the Nurse asking for a treat.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
“Where be the delightful baby of the house?” says Jack O’Lantern purring like a cat.
“Asleep in the cradle,” says the Nurse accepting Jack’s gold sack.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
“We will pinch him, we will ***** him, we will stab him with a long pin!
Nurse, you will hold the basin for the blood all to run in.”
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
So they pinched him and they pricked him, then they stabbed him with a very sharp pin.
The false Nurse did hold the basin for the blood all to run in.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
“Lady, come down the stairs, come drink this tasty gin,” says Jack O’Lantern dripping sin.
“How can I see thee in the dark?” says the Lady unto him.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
“I have silver bracelets and rings fashioned out of gold,” says Jack O’Lantern bowing.
“Lady, pray sail down the stairs and come see them glowing.”
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
Down the stairs the radiant Lady gently glided without alarm, thinking there to be no harm.
Black-eyed Jack stood ready to snap her in his arms.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
There is blood in the kitchen and blood on the chamber floor, there is blood also in the hall.
There is blood upon the open door and blood upon the wall.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
There is slippery blood in the parlour and bedroom too where the Lady did slip and fall.
Now Jack will be caught and hanged and punished in hell’s hall.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.
And the false Nurse will be broken and burnt in the fire raging scarlet and black.
Said the Prince unto his Lady dead as he rode back:
“Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
O why did you unlock the door? My heart will now forever twist and turn!”
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 1:33 PM UTC
Without
your smiling face my love
So rare now to find in this place
Without
your Glasgow banter
What remains is left speechless and misplaced;
I am a ship adrift without its anchor
Within
deep blue ocean eyes
that look straight into me
In ways and wonders and for why
Without
I can not take back what was said
nor’ parting waves and late goodbyes
now lost to the turbulence
of new experience under foreign skies
Within
I almost hear your warm whispers still
Without
it creeps in my ears to replace wax with made-up doubts
Play round-a-bouts upon my brain
But listen intently anyway:
In case she might whisper it again
Within
a tender touch that knows my gentle being
The passions unwrapped as such
By fingertips
And a stolen kiss upon my lips
And all that I remember seeing
Without
I am the frosted breath of a Scottish chill
With
a voiceless shout
No exit out
I await
that which is meant for me
Within
Without
or cast
adrift at sea
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
The griffin outside my balcony
squinted and shook
flipping Kansas City
upside down and back.
Giant flakes descended
like softest down -
coating the plaza below
with a mantel of frosted white.
The griffin is squinting once more.
Watch out; hold on tight!
Here we go again
whirling about in a cyclonic flurry
of magic fairy crystals.
August, 2010
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
On the front porch of this Colonial,
Its there I long to be, because,
It could speak to all the memories,
when the blue door was red.
Memories, those that were good and not so good.
My mom’s bleeding hearts, framed the garden entrance,
Joined by legions of Dutch Iris’ and Peonies,
The lot of them, were a happy bunch when the summer rain fell.
The sun room on the 2nd floor was my much loved space.
It was there I tried writing prose and poetry,
And in the winter, the birds would come to the frosted window,
I’d place some popcorn on the window sill and sing them a song to warm their hearts.
The two enormous Maple trees, would reach out with loving arms,
Nurturing birds, squirrels and me in 62….. the day Norma Jean died.
It was there in my room, in the early morning, you could hear the Hudson River Barge blow its horn.
It gave me such a reassurance that everything would be ok.
Thank you for the warmth you bestowed and for the spirit of Dr. Early,
Who would join our family in evening hour, when the fireplace roared.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
I’ve forgotten
to be anything but
space—so enraptured
with the black that
the forest was
less than a goose pimple
on earth’s flesh.
I have ignored the
eighth notes
hanging from the pines.
I have forgotten
the snowbirds and whipped
winds.
I have numbed the needles
pocking skin through
my jeans.
I have forgotten green.
I have forgotten green.
I have forgotten green.
now
the light of frozen
flies dims
in your mouth.
now
love washes out
in seasons.
now I eat
sugar-frosted buckthorn.
And I see you
ready to touch
through one
hundred leaves
and foliage.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
_[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]_
_(Winter-export)_, the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. _(Thick lips; quick still-hunt.)_ I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. _(Glimmering isle)_; my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. _(Parsecs quaking.)_ You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me… Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks _(freighting gemstones)_; King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands.
_[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]_
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
It was my birthday,
Sixty Five years turned to grey hair.
My love and I, and two old school
friends on a breezy Fall day.
Over Tea and a lovely frosted
three layer cake, we cajoled
and joked about our age,
all turned senior citizens that year.
And yet in truth, we all agreed,
none of us had ever been as happy as then.
The cake was sliced onto china plates,
Each piece served flat on it's cut side.
I noticed something then as we all
took our first bites.
Our forks all started at the thinnest corner,
on the bottom layer's side, gradually
excavating the two lower levels of fluffy
cake, saving the best for last, the top layer
where all the sweet frosting remained.
It occurred to me then that indeed life
is like a three layer cake, the last top layer
can indeed contain the sweetest bites.
That rather than gobbling life hurriedly whole
it should be savored more like patiently eating
and enjoying a three layer cake.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
Flowers bloom
After the frost
All too soon,
They will be lost.
Claimed by a white blanket and covered with care
The mother claims all
Everything gets it's fair share
All too soon
Nothing will bloom.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
All the flowers slung low to the frosted ground,
But one that shone above the others,
That vibrant flower trying so hard to impress,
But the cold frosted flowers paid no mind to it,
The vibrant flower soon discouraged,
Covered it'd petals with dirt,
And soon began to blend in,
Why must we all be the same?
When we are all born unique,
They don't appreciate their own uniqueness,
So they shoot down yours,
This vicious cycle repeating,
When will it end?
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
She never made it
To Morocco
Rode ’cross the desert
With her Bedouin lover
Shopped for bargains
In the Souks of Rabat
Sipped mint tea
From a frosted glass.
She never went sailing
In a catamaran
And on a moonlit beach
Made love in the sand
Or drank espresso
In a café in Lima
Or danced the flamenco
In Puerto Rico.
She married a man
Cause no one else offered
Had three kids
And moved to the suburbs
Wrapped up her dreams
In brown butcher paper
Tied them with twine
And shelved them for later .
She never made it
To Morocco
Her life was four walls
Plastered in stucco
And she sighed as she thought
Of the things that she lost
The dreams that she wrapped
And shelved in the past.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:32 PM UTC