"strugs" poems
He is blank stares
soft hellos and
simple strugs
He is the freedom you feel
watching a sunset in mid July
He is your favorite cup of coffee in
an empty shop half past two
He is the prayers you say
before you sleep and
secret you couldn’t keep
He is your hopes and dreams
of getting the hell out of here
He is chaos that is grasping
for order
and the anchor that makes things
sink
He is an unmarked grave
in a cemetery full of headstones
and all of the things at
the bottom of the ocean
He is a room
filled with dusty books
that you will never be able
to read
and the other side of the
crescent moon
I guess some things
you just can’t explain
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC