Etching on a used canvas
Words that have
Lost all meaning
Retracing my muddy boot prints
Salvaging some dying feeling
Try and listen to the birds
Over the sound
of this vessel heaving
Shall I succumb
To the tide
Or pull through for
The evening?
Zombies stand behind
The thin yellow line
Try not to meet eyes
We live In
each other's minds
And we'll just throw stones
Till we
Hit his bones
Pick through the leftovers
Like a
Flock of
Crows
Singing along to songs
The lyrics have
Lost all meaning
Why would I stick around
When I've become so accustomed
To leaving?
Is my soul at rest
Or am I Just
Blissfully
Dreaming?
Sorry for ringing the bell
And disturbing
Your undisturbed sleeping
Zombies get
in line
You don't matter
Till five
Always chasing a dime
And we'll just throw stones
Till we
Find gold
Pick through the leftovers
Like a
Flock of
Crows
YOU ARE READING
Fabergé eggs: A collection of poems by Alexander Hopper
PoetryA collection of poems I wrote while I was at the lowest point of my life.
