Broken lights, broken wings,
Glued on bitumen, stucked on rings,
Of quacked fights, uneasy to sing,
Thy heart of fright, hitted by sling,
Hopes for a flight, yet gets stung.
Broken claws, alarms in pain,
There she crows, almost in sane,
The pain grows, rocks and slain,
Catch her flaws, hopes in vain,
Her dreams gnaws, holded by a chain.
Dimmed light, faded life’s admirations,
Hopeless sight, curtailed aspirations,
Summarized mortal ropes, broken motion,
Bounted knotes, happiness distortion,
Unending fight, life’s ceaseless commotion.
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Author:
imma isa kemmy (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: October 27th, 2025 09:36
- Comment from author about the poem: its hard to give it a title am ready to here anyones opinion, what do u think i should title it?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Online)
Comments1
Yay! First comment!!! That image—“glued on bitumen”—stuck with me. It’s so physical, gritty, and symbolic of what it means to be grounded against your will. Stark and brilliant. As such, "Bitumen Dreams" could be a cool title. Yet, this also feels like a hymn for the broken-winged. So, perhaps "Gravity's Hymn"? Those two came to me while reading. Regardless, beautiful poem! A fave! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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