Sometimes we all are.
and on the floor,
in my clothes
and my hair so more,
sits the stink
of the coming days,
rising to the brink;
and my ways
-one would think
would lust to change,
yet certain strays
never reach home range;
engraved in the grain
in the floor
and on the wood:
A change would come
if only it could.
Poetry by Aven Black
Read 576 times
Written on 2009-07-25 at 02:06
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Lost
In the woodand on the floor,
in my clothes
and my hair so more,
sits the stink
of the coming days,
rising to the brink;
and my ways
-one would think
would lust to change,
yet certain strays
never reach home range;
engraved in the grain
in the floor
and on the wood:
A change would come
if only it could.
Poetry by Aven Black
Read 576 times
Written on 2009-07-25 at 02:06
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
