how many times has someone asked if im ready for daylight's gleam?
how many years have i put up my curtains to block out the sun?
too many to count, too many to say.
chains in childhood playgrounds rust
roaring fires are reduced to ash
cuts and wound heal
but I am stagnant
mighty trees of oak and birch tower upon their hills
aging, aged, ancient
but even plants of godlike stature wither away and rot.
how many times has someone asked if im ready for daylight's gleam?
"one." says the sun
"two." says the sky
"a thousand." says my mind.
YOU ARE READING
cringe poetry with sati
PoetrySome poetry I write for venting purposes. There's not much I have to say about this.
