Don't write themselves,
But I'm not going to write them for you.

The confusion is envisioned
During the brief hiatus
Between thoughts

I spent
my life
designing a
border,
between myself
and the
world of
disorder
But the
border was
breached by
a world
so sick,
with hearts
of stone
and minds
of brick

©

what a strange title*

If you want your words to last
Write them in concrete and set them fast
To often our words are written in sand
Washed away by the rising tide
Some poems get added to a group
Saved there for eternity
But most get tangled in the grains
Of rolling shifting moving sands

You were my favourite shade of blue to drown in.