No more I move in a plain way. I am always in a tearing hurry...I rush.


Rush

I rush when it comes to you
I rush...not run or fly
I rush to the library
to hold what was yours
I rush to send a note
I rush to open
I rush to be in the sun
I rush to be in the rain
I rush to be in the chill
I rush to disappear with the mist
I rush to run on the sand
I rush to lie on the grass
I rush to hug nearly everyone
I rush to write on paper to you
I rush to write on sand
Your name.




Poetry by Deeps
Read 672 times
Written on 2014-01-15 at 18:00

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