Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
On edge, tiptoe in the cornfield.
Rip off the bandaid won't you?
It's all become too much.
Tight rope walking, one wrong move
Boom, their whole world blows up.
Shake the ropes, feeling more than most.
Waves come in and release more clouds of smoke.
Almost time to start seeing these ghosts.
Tick-tock, who controls the hands of your clock?
Master your time, reframe your mind, fears of getting left behind.
Wave your hand when you think you know what you came here to find.
Oblong or all the way around.
Lose your mind and see what's been found.
Just be sure to keep your feet firm on the ground.
Calling home to the waves of the Sound.
Brace yourself for the call.
Mirrored windows turn into walls.
~I.S.~
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Author:
Introverted Sage (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 18th, 2024 00:52
- Comment from author about the poem: 06.2023.10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments2
Last two lines are just amazing
Thank you!
Superb work.
Thank you!
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