Dec 19, 21 & 22 2023

coracaodacripta

Bone Thugs N Harmony and Blackstreet albums tucked into my backpack; chessboard styled skate rolling me into the valley. Midnights in the Winter stand still. Are you there, illuminated by the orange hue of a sole streetlight at the bottom of the hill? Yes, setting up your stereo.

 

In waiting for my turn to speak, it has occurred to me that there are those without a voice.

 

I sometimes crave a solitary grave, a secluded cave, or the belly of Jonah's fish.

  • Author: coracaodacripta (Online Online)
  • Published: July 1st, 2024 00:16
  • Comment from author about the poem: Pass times and fabricated memories
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 0
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors




To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.