Love is a bed draped in thoughts that hold
A moment in place unmoving
Still or frantic shouts of panic
Trying without success to get through,

Guilt is a casket disguised as life
An unbreathable simulacrum
Made necessary because of fear.


random ideas

..

......



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 655 times
Written on 2014-01-13 at 17:13

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text