Still
I wish we could lie under a blanketIn a house gone cold.
Breathe in each other,
Get lost, between the mad and mental.
Be silent.
I wish you'd feel enough,
Yet not too much.
I'd cover up your pain,
With a brush dipped in fabulous colors.
If I could.
There's no other world but our own
Or so they claim.
But when the figurines made out of clay
Go dancing in the shadows,
We know better.
No thought, no action.
Yet you live and have ghosts in your room,
They don't whisper -
They are glued to the wall,
Not daring to move;
I don't dare to move,
As I can save or kill you.
And I'd rather be still,
Still with you and your ghosts.
Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 1008 times
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Written on 2018-11-01 at 22:45
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