to be lost and asunder,
covered like a crime,
flitting in and out of existence;
the road before so distant
that i'm checking my pulse
again and again.
a playground to ripen in,
a pathless stretch to wander;
to roll the eyes back and watch,
and to love wrongly,
childlike - a wonderful creation
which will not last
but feels like breathing
and tastes like growth.
-
Author:
Ryan Robson-Bluer (
Offline) - Published: August 2nd, 2022 10:32
- Comment from author about the poem: moving away from home, moving country for the first time
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 29
Offline)
Comments1
Beautiful
thanks so much!
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.