Still to an “O”,
Justly oscillating ‘round infinite bends,
Still we weep in prolonged screeches.
Stub the end and bounce back around fast as our comprehension of speed,
Still we have amorphous eyes, can’t see the life of me,
And so I am a walking corpse.
Peering towards your life we are filled with deadly sin,
Still as days on ends end their eyes sit, drooping out of socket.
“We are same”…?
Still as the mocking bird you are one, and “I” am none,
I want to be. To see outside of my tiny “O”.
Oh…
It seems that It’s empty.
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Author:
Turrika (
Offline) - Published: December 12th, 2016 08:11
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
Offline)
Comments1
WELCOME TURRIKA ~ Thanks for your first poem which seems to be based on an ever increasing anticlimax ! When you lose your "O" that is the end ! Thinking of you ~ BRIAN
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